When A Proud Man Breaks
by mtfrosty
Summary: Count Dooku turns himself in. The Clone War halts and shifts on its axis, veering into a future that has both Jedi and Sith off balance. New players step onto the board as Dooku discovers a power far greater than the Force. Full summary inside... (Dooku redemption fic)
1. Chapter 1

_Alright, here it is! This is the first chapter of my Dooku-centered fic that I've been probing you guys about. Quite a few people read the single chapter I posted about two months ago and it garnered a few reviews, all of which encouraged me to write the fic and post it. I'm not going to promise regular updates, but I'll do my best to not let too much time past between them. ;) I hope you guys enjoy it!_

 _ **Summary:** After the events recounted in _Dark Rendezvous, _Yan_ _Dooku leaves Sidious and the dark side and returns to the Jedi Temple months later, seeking asylum and hoping for forgiveness. He finds a friend in Jocasta Nu, Keeper of the Archives, but the rest of the Order are not as quick to forgive. Despite their opinions and suspicions of the former Sith, the Council agrees to allow him to stay in the hopes that they can keep an eye on him and use his knowledge to defeat the Sith once and for all. Meanwhile, Dooku seeks redemption and a better way than the Code in a small group of people located in the Bogden System. He gets more than he bargained for and uncovers something far stronger than the Sith and potentially more dangerous. Features Yoda, Mace, Obi-wan, Anakin, Ventress, Sidious, and more... (Angst, Drama, Adventure, and Family all rolled into one. Strong Christian themes are at the center.)_

 _ **Disclaimer:** I'll claim whatever doesn't already belong to someone else. The short part of this first chapter th_ _at is **bold** is from the book _ Dark Rendezvous _and is not mine._

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 _"I know a planet inhabited by a red-faced gentleman. He's never smelled a flower. He's never looked at a star. He's never loved anyone. He's never done anything except add up numbers. And all day long he says over and over, just like you, 'I'm a serious man! I'm a serious man!' And that puffs him up with pride. But he's not a man at all - he's_ _a mushroom!" The Little Prince_

* * *

It was raining on Coruscant. Large drops filled the many crevices and pocked surfaces of both streets and buildings, soaking in deep and ensuring a few more wrinkles would be added to the already aged appearance of many of the planet's numerous levels. A thick layer of clouds promised a longer shower than desired. The city was still bustling with all sorts of frantic activity, however, as if in the face of such a roaring deluge, it had simply acknowledged the angry outpouring of rushing noise and smirked in response. Coruscant was a busy place, and even the heaviest of storms was not going to hinder its frenetic culture.

On the second day of this unusual soaking – of which the weather services proclaimed there might be at least three more – a sopping figure made his way up the wide expanse of steps leading to the entrance of the Jedi Order's famed Temple. The dark cloak that hung off of his tall frame was drenched through and anyone who glanced in his direction could only sigh in sympathy. A few might roll their eyes in disbelief as well. Did Jedi ever consider weatherproofing their traditional garments?

The man trudged up the steps in a measured gait, not precisely in a hurry, but not so slow as to be an annoyance had the day been sunny and the Temple busier. Despite his soggy appearance, most would have instantly categorized him as a man of position. He stood tall as he walked. Confident. Purposeful. Authoritative. There was no mistaking it.

But he was not a Jedi. That _was_ a mistake.

This man reached the top of the steps and stopped, ignoring the rush of water that continued to smother him, and took a moment to glance up. It was a long ways up to be sure. The spires of the legendary Temple reached hundreds of feet into the sky, but today they disappeared in the steady sheets of precipitation. A small smile lit up his normally dour expression. _How ironic,_ he thought. _Without the sun, this place is just another slab of duracrete and marble, growing older with the rest of this shadowed planet._

And shadowed the Temple seemed. Dulled by the lack of light, grey and hard in appearance. Still deliberating on his choice of action, the man shrugged dismissively. He had left the darkness, the slime, the shadows, and the old, old hatred, and now here he stood. Still lost, but not without direction. Not entirely, but he was a bit surprised that this place seemed so ordinary when it once had seemed so grand. Something inside of him had tugged him here, insistent that he return.

A Jedi he had been once, but that was many years ago. _Many_ years. He was a little over a decade older and wiser, as his former master would soon discover. His first former master, anyhow. Shivers that had nothing to do with his water-logged cloak slithered up his spine. Thinking of his first master inevitably brought up memories of his second.

Older and wiser, yes. But he carried the weight of certain experiences with him as well, and he always wondered if others could see that weight in his slight limp and the tiniest slouch of his shoulders. He sighed, preparing himself. Then he stepped out of the rain and into the empty shell that the Jedi called "home". To him it had never felt like home, and now it almost feels like he's willingly entering a prison, subjecting himself to chains he had once been free of.

Aged hands, worn yet still strong, reached up and lowered his cowl, revealing gray hair that had once been a noble black. This change did nothing to take away from his refined presence; he had always purposed to remain poised and mannered in appearance, forever giving off the aura of one who was confident in his abilities and not to be trifled with. He observed the large doors with a bland expression, gritting his teeth over the ornate simplicity that they exuded. The Jedi were far too proud in their humility, he wagered.

Normally there would have been "greeters" standing on either side of the grand entryway, ready to welcome anyone in so long as they were deemed safe. Today, however, the Temple was apparently forgoing their first measure of security, something he was grateful for. Small mercies and all that. It wouldn't do to have himself detained right away without having the chance to explain himself. He had little doubt that a welcome party of sorts awaited him just inside, but perhaps he would at least be granted the opportunity to simply _speak_.

And so, with resigned determination and a slight bit of trepidation (if he were honest with himself), this stranger who really wasn't a stranger reached forward and pushed the right door inward. There was an uncharacteristically loud creak as the door swung in and he winced a bit.

If he was expecting a large group of armed Jedi waiting for him with lightsabers blazing and ready to strike, then his already bruised ego was about to receive yet another blow. The only figure who had deigned to grace the entry halls with his presence was short, squat, and wrinkly, sprouting little bits of hair like some old potato that had just begun to grow its oddly shaped warts. He was green-skinned and smiling.

~~OOO~~

" _ **Always catch you, I will, when you fall… I swore it."**_

 _ **Yan flinched as if stung.**_

" _ **But another way to solve the war, there is. If you will not join with me, perhaps join with you, I should. Tell me more," Yoda said testily. "If power over beings need I not, what else can your dark side do for me?"**_

" _ **What do you want?" Yan snapped. "Tell me what you want and I will show you how the dark side can help you achieve it. Do you want friends? The dark side can compel them for you. Lovers? The dark side understands passion in a way you never have. Do you want riches – endless life – deep wisdom…?"**_

" _ **I want…" Yoda held up the flower in his hand and took another sniff. "I want a rose."**_

" _ **Be serious," Yan said impatiently.**_

" _ **Serious am I!" Yoda cried. He bounced to his feet. Standing on the desktop, he was almost as tall as Dooku. He held up the flower imperiously toward his former pupil. "Another rose, make for me!"**_

" _ **The dark side springs from the heart," Yan said. "It isn't a handbook for cheap conjuror's tricks."**_

" _ **But like this trick, I do!" Yoda said. "The trick that brings the flower from the ground. The trick that sets the sun on fire."**_

" _ **The Force is not magic. I can't create a flower out of thin air. Nobody can – not you, not the Lord of the Sith."**_

 _ **Yoda blinked. "My Force does. Binds every living thing, the Force I understand."**_

" _ **Master, these are games of words. The Force is as it has always been. The dark side is not a different energy. To use it is only to open yourself to new ways to command that energy, that have to do with the hearts of beings. Want something else. Want power."**_

" _ **Power, I have."**_

" _ **Want wealth."**_

" _ **Wealth, I do not need."**_

" _ **Want to be safe," Yan said in frustration. "Want to be free from fear!"**_

" _ **I will never be safe," Yoda said. He turned away from Dooku, a shapeless bundle under a battered, acid-eaten cloak. "The universe is large and cold and very dark: that is the truth. What I love, taken from me will be, late or soon: and no power is there, dark or light, that can save me. Murdered, Jai Maruk was when the looking after him I had; and Maks Leem; and all the many, many more Jedi I have lost. My family they were."**_

" _ **So be angry about that!" he said. "Hate! Rage! Despair! Allow yourself, just once, to stop playing at the game of Jedi Knight, and admit what you have always known: you are alone, and you are great, and when the world strikes you it is better to strike back than to turn your cheek. Feel, Yoda! I can feel the darkness rising in you. Here, in this place, be honest for once and feel the truth about yourself."**_

 _ **At that moment, Yoda turned, and he gasped. Whether it was the play of the holomonitors, beaming their views of bleak space and distant battles, or some other trick of the light, Yoda's face was deeply hidden in the shadows, mottled black and blue, so that for one terrible instant he looked exactly like Darth Sidious. Or rather, it was Yoda as he might have been, or could yet become: a Yoda gone rotten, a Yoda whose awesome powers had been utterly unleashed by his connection to the dark side. "Your hand is shaking," Yoda said.**_

" _ **Yes." Yan frowned at it. "Age."**_

 _ **Yoda smiled. "Fear." Yoda came out of the shadows. The vision of him in his Sith avatar faded.**_

~~OOO~~

Yan Dooku and Yoda stared at one another for a long moment, neither saying anything. They had fought, then. After a discussion in which Yan had tried his very best to convince Yoda of the merits of the dark side, after he had failed and been left completely unbalanced and shaking, after he had informed Yoda that it had been a trap, he had come to his battered senses and they had fought. Yan had eventually fled, leaving Vjun to continue to burn in its heavy shadows.

"Out of the darkness, has young Dooku come?" Yoda finally asked, his stick tapping gently on the floor as he moved forward.

Dooku stared at him, face impassive, heart beating no faster than normal. Yoda had convinced him that day of two things. The darkness wasn't worth poisoning his soul over, and the Jedi were not as light as they claimed to be. He wondered now if Yoda would agree with not only the first point, but the second as well. Still staring down at the ancient Grandmaster, Yan reached inside of his cloak to the dry robes beneath and drew out a small plant. A white rose, to be exact. He extended it towards his old friend, a wry smile only now crossing his face. "Your rose. As requested."

This drew the Jedi up short. For the first time in Yan's eighty-three years, he saw Yoda speechless. The stick hovered frozen only two inches from the floor as Yoda gazed at the small flower, his green eyes widening slightly before they flicked back to Yan's far darker ones. The stick fell the rest of its way, landing with a dull thud. "Yes," Yoda murmured. "It is."

Yan waited for Yoda to accept his small, somewhat ironic gift before straightening to look around at the empty hallways. They were lit only by artificial lighting today since the sun was currently smothered in clouds. "Your Force does not give that flower life," he said as he studied the view out of one of the windows. "I won't say that I tried to create a flower out of thin air or crouched by a small plot of dirt trying to bring one out of the ground, because I didn't. I felt that would be a foolish waste of time. No, Yoda. Only after the flower lives does it have the Force flowing through it and when it dies, it is what you are holding. Still beautiful, still white, but dry and hollow. A shell. Tell me, Jedi… can your Force defeat death?"

"Returned, you have," Yoda replied, drawing Yan's gaze once more. He wasn't shocked that the Jedi chose to ignore his question. Yoda was looking at the rose and still smiling, but the smile had grown strained. When he met Yan's eyes, the man found himself no longer staring into a hopeful former friend, but a Jedi master. _The_ Jedi master.

Yan let out a dry, bitter laugh. For some futile reason, he had clung to a tiny thread of hope that maybe things could be as they once were. That he and Yoda could somehow set aside the past thirteen years of their tragic lives, but like the gaping mouth of a greedy, slobbering monster, those years seemed to have sucked their friendship dry. So be it. Yan could live with that. "Yes, but not as a Jedi. I will never be a Jedi again."

A spark of something, sorrow perhaps, flared briefly in grass-green eyes and then it was gone. "Know this, I do," Yoda confirmed. "Why does Dooku come here, then, if a Jedi he is not?"

Yan sighed, glancing once at the dry rose cupped in Yoda's knobby claws and then let his body relax. No need to continue to keep up appearances, at least not completely. He was tired of it. Tired of it all. "I want to rest, Master Yoda. I have been running and searching and fading for too many years, and I am hoping that maybe while your Council decides what to do with me, I might be granted a few days' rest."

Somehow, he had surprised the little troll twice now. Yan wondered if perhaps he was the only man to ever perplex this creature that was supposed to be so wise. He immediately dismissed the thought as incredibly arrogant, because Yoda was wise and he had also lived a long, _long_ time. He doubted that this was only the second time that Yoda had ever been surprised.

Even so…

"Only rest, Dooku wants?" Yoda huffed, a shadow of his old mischievous smile flickering into view. "Sense more from you, I do. No longer shrouded in darkness, you are, but still a shadow. Seek answers, you do." Yoda paused, keen eyes seeing too much. "And safety."

Yan blinked, mind shuffling through all of the answers that he could give. Eventually, he decided to agree with him. "Yes. I am hunted and while I am not exactly inclined to keep company with those I consider foolish, I must grant that this Temple is safer than other places I could go." He watched Yoda study him, careful to keep his shields strong and his face indifferent. Years of practice, _dec_ _ades_ of putting on an act had carved him into stone. Impersonating the blank countenance of a droid or a statue was not hard, merely a necessity. It hid his true desires.

Yoda finally moved again, tapping his stick in what Yan recognized as irritation. "If hunted, you are, then bring danger and darkness to this Temple, you do."

"I did not say this place is safe. You misunderstand me. I only said _safer_." Yan looked away again, measuring the dim corridors in a heavy gaze and finding them severely lacking. There was no comfort for him here, no warmth. Only opportunity, and it was enough. "There is already danger and darkness here in these walls," he continued, looking down at the Jedi once more. "What hunts me is merely the culmination of what is already here. I was once the thing that hunts me and yet you are considering my request? I am only asking, Master Yoda. It is up to you whether you want to allow me to stay."

Finally, _finally,_ Yoda grinned. It was a frightening expression on a gargoyle-like face, but Yan only felt a small bit of relief at seeing it. "Clever, you are, my old friend." The stick tapped down once more, this time in finality. "Grant your request, I will, but only so far as the Council deems fit. Hiding something, you are, but push you, I will not." Yoda stopped, humming a little.

Yan waited, silent.

Yoda fingered the rose and lifted it to his nose, huffing in satisfaction. "Well-preserved, this is. Still smell it's sweetness, I do." He cackled happily. "After all this time, a decent man you still are. Cautious, I am, but believe I do, that you are not and have never been the thing that hunts you."

A dark brow rose, indignation, irritation, and disagreement flicking it high. "Then you are a fool."

Air slapped him in the face and chest and Yan was pushed back a foot before he realized what Yoda had done. The green master was glaring at him through narrowed, glittering eyes. "Told me once, you did, that no one is good. Beginning to believe you, I am. Many wars have I seen and too much bloodshed to believe otherwise. But told you once, _I_ did, when searching for the Sith you were, that searching for other shadows, you were _not_. Searching for the source of all shadows you were, and find it you did. Sidious, you are _not._ "

Yan flinched, both stung and startled. He recovered quickly. "I suppose…" he trailed off, hearing movement from his left. Mace Windu slowly stepped out from behind a pillar, hilt in hand, but blade deactivated. Yan frowned. How had he not sensed…? No matter. The blasted man was here now, and he had a weapon, but his attention was only on Yoda… he took it as a good sign.

"Master," Windu's deep baritone echoed in the entryway.

Yoda hummed again, narrowed eyes still fixed on Yan. "A threat, he is not," he said. "Follow us to your old quarters, you will," he ordered with a slow nod.

This was spoken to him, and Yan slowly nodded back. His eyes flicked briefly to the Korun master standing slightly behind him and to his right, warily confirming that the man was not the least bit happy to see him there and even more disappointed at the Grandmaster's verdict. Despite his wariness and despite his exhaustion, Yan managed to dredge up a cold smirk. "Are you to be my designated shadow while I am here, Master Windu? Demoted to guarding prisoners now are we?"

The dark-skinned man, robed in a brown cloak almost as dark as his own, took a single step forward so that they could face each other completely. The Jedi's face was still impassive, but his eyes, darker even than Yan's own, glinted with something one could almost call _primal_. "Spare me the pathetic quips, Count. Let's not pretend that neither of us doesn't understand exactly who the other is. _This_ ," here the man gestured only at Yan, "changes things. You can understand the steps being taken I'm sure."

Yan's smirk grew, but inside he was frowning. A long sigh threatened to betray his true feelings, but he held it at bay. _Force,_ he was _tired._ "I'm flattered. Truly."

"Provoke us, you will _not_ …" but Yoda trailed off when a smile slowly crawled across Mace Windu's normally stern features. Apparently this was enough to arrest even the attention of a centuries' old troll. Yan had to admit to just the slightest twinge of unease. Only a twinge, nothing more. He had faced worse expressions from far more wicked beings.

"You tread dangerously," Windu said. "I am here to ensure that you do not become the threat that Master Yoda believes you are not. I am a patient man despite my reputation, but make no mistake. Should you show even the slightest _hint_ of retaliation, you will lose a limb or possibly your head, depending on whether or not you decide to duck."

Threats? Yan's smirk disappeared. "My mistake. You flatter yourself."

"Flattery has nothing to do with it." Dark eyes narrowed. "You move to hurt one of us, you try to escape, you attempt to destroy this place, you attempt rebellion in _any_ form, I will hurt you. Badly. I've spared you once before. I assure you it will not happen twice."

 _Geonosis._ Yan remembered.

He stared into those dark eyes for a long moment, weighing the man's words. Finally, he nodded. Keeping his eyes fixed on Windu, he reached to his belt and unclipped the elegant, curved hilt that rested there. While the Jedi's fingers twitched towards his 'saber's ignition, the purple blade made no appearance. Yan gave him a little half smile. "I believe you. Perhaps this will ensure that my body remains intact?" Hesitating for only a second, he extended the lightsaber towards Windu.

The man had the grace to allow a little bit of surprise to show before schooling his features once more. Nodding once, he accepted the weapon and stepped back out of Yan's line of sight.

The former Sith turned his attention towards Master Yoda once more and quirked a brow. "Well?"

With a sigh that rivaled the one Yan was currently holding in, Yoda turned and began to shuffle down the hallway. Despite the friction between the three of them, a huff of muted laughter followed soon after. "Friends, you once were. Squabble as if you still are, you do."

Yan didn't look to check Mace's face, but he felt a sharp pang of _something_ from the man. As for himself, well, some things still deserved to be smiled at.

~~OOO~~

Obi-wan Kenobi flicked on the boiler with a tiny nudge of the Force, smiling at the reaction he would have received had Anakin been there. Contrary to popular opinion, he wasn't _completely_ against frivolous Force use, particularly where tea was concerned. His smile softened and his eyes fluttered closed for a short moment as he let out a contented sigh. Something as insignificant as making tea had become a gift lately. Fighting a war left little time for domestic comforts.

As he waited for the water to boil, he moved to the small table that doubled as both desk and dining area in his and Anakin's small apartment. Right now it was littered with neat stacks of flimsy and a few articles that had yet to be sorted. Subconsciously schooling his features into a business-like frown, Obi-wan took a seat and lifted one of the articles from the table. He had already read it over a few times and he had also done the same with most of the others. Having grown accustomed to news snippets announcing more bombings, uprisings, trade embargos, Sith sightings, or casualty counts, it had been a pleasant – if surprising – shock to suddenly be bombarded with accounts of Separatist bases being uncovered and sabotaged. Some of them were in areas that the Jedi had long suspected of housing enemy camps, but many had caught them unawares.

As one of the Order's resident strategists, and due to the fact that he and Anakin were on a rare and much-needed furlough, Obi-wan had been assigned the pleasant task of making sense of all of these sudden, unusual reports. Granted, he wasn't the _only_ Jedi master currently busying themselves with trying to figure it all out, but it certainly felt like it. What with the rest of the Council constantly inquiring of his progress and not-so-subtly offering their own insights.

Obi-wan had already narrowed it down to four possibilities, one of which he was _very_ confused with. But it made too much sense for him to disregard it.

His thoughts were suddenly shattered by the piercing wail of the boiler announcing that the water was primed for tea leaves. Not a second later, the apartment door slammed open and heavily booted feet stomped inside. Obi-wan flinched at the sound and willfully suppressed his irritation into an expression that he _hoped_ would pass as only slightly annoyed. "Anakin," he began, "the typical check-up for a knight on active duty normally takes longer than half an hour…"

He turned as his friend entered, noting the frazzled mop of hair, faint circles under the eyes, and glint of determination in blue eyes. Anakin _looked_ normal, but he felt out of control. Casually turning back towards the counter, he began to add some crushed herbs to his water. "Well?"

"Dooku just turned himself in."

His fingers froze for just the tiniest fraction of a second before he continued making his tea. _Nothing_ , not even the Force-blasted Count turning himself in, was going to interrupt him having tea.

"Yoda's called for a Council meeting." Obi-wan didn't pause. An annoyed huff sounded from the place where Anakin stood. "It's happening right now. As in _immediately_. You're already late because you turned you comm off again…"

Obi-wan finished adding the herbs. Grasping the small mug and relishing in its warmth, he turned and stepped towards the table. Catching Anakin's scowl out of the corner of his eye, Obi-wan smirked. "Tea takes precedence," was all he said. Snatching up two of the six piles of flimsy and the article he had been reading before he had been so _rudely_ interrupted, Obi-wan cast a final glance at his friend. "Go finish your check-up, Anakin. I'll update you when I can."

Anakin rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion with his hand. Obi-wan left with a chuckle, moving just fast enough so that he could say that he had hurried, but slow enough so that he wouldn't lose any tea. He exuded the casual authority and confidence that he was known for, but inside his mind was churning with countless possibilities and he struggled to gain any sort of traction at the transpiring events.

When a drop of tea sloshed out of the mug, Obi-wan frowned and slowed to a more measured gait. When it landed on one of the articles resting securely under his arm, his frown deepened. Force help the Council if he arrived with their precious reports soaked in his much more precious beverage. He had been more than a little frustrated when the task had been dumped on him immediately following his and Anakin's return. Furlough, by definition, was meant to be a time of _rest_.

Upon reminding himself of this, Obi-wan ceased his "hurrying" and slowed to a gait lazy enough as to be considered unmeasurable. The Council could stand to have an exercise in patience and he was more than willing to be the one who administered it.

When he finally arrived at the doors to the Council chamber, Mace greeted him with a thunderous scowl, crossed arms, and a tapping foot. His dark eyes narrowed when they glimpsed the steaming mug nestled securely in Obi-wan's calloused hands. "Did Anakin fail to mention the urgency of this meeting, Master Kenobi?"

Obi-wan noted the emphasis on his formal title with mild concern. Considering the present situation and the fact that he was the one they had looked to for clarity on the events leading up to it, he wasn't overly disturbed by their frustration over him being a few minutes late.

"You've kept us waiting for the better part of an hour."

Well. It seemed that his lesson in patience had failed. Pity. He shrugged dismissively and raised the mug ever-so-slightly. "Tea takes precedence and I can't imagine that Dooku is going anywhere."

"Nevertheless –"

"I propose we get started," Obi-wan said, stepping to the side and brushing by the taller man. If they kept this up, he just might unleash the full power of his sarcastic wit on this unfortunate bunch. He walked across the room to his seat without meeting anyone else's gaze. After shuffling the pages into a neater stack and taking another sip of his tea, he glanced towards Yoda and met the Grandmaster's eyes.

He understood and Obi-wan smiled slightly in acknowledgement.

Mace growled at people. Ki-adi was often lost in thought. Yoda's ears drooped. Eeth answered in three words or less. Saesee hardly spoke at all. Agen got migraines. Plo's breathing grew hoarse. Obi-wan drank tea.

It wasn't hard to tell when they were each unsettled. Not if you knew them well.

~~OOO~~

Not one speck of dust rested in his old quarters, but it was obvious that no one had used them since he'd left. The air was old and smelled stale and even the busiest Jedi would have at least added _one_ personal touch, but there was nothing. Only Order-issued furniture gracing the tiny living room, Order-issued dishes in the cupboards, and a single Order-issued plant resting in one corner. It was a species that required very little water, but Yan could tell by the gray tinge to its bluish leaves that after all this time it was starting to feel just a bit parched.

Unusually eager to do something as simple as take care of a plant (he hadn't done so in far too long), he crossed to the sink in six determined strides and filled a cup with water. Ten more steps took him to the plant and he gently dropped just a couple of sips into the pot. Within the hour it would be bluer and standing straight again.

Once that task was finished his mind frantically set about prioritizing all of the ways he could make this tiny apartment resemble something like a home. More plants, a throw blanket with an elegant design, new sheets for his bed, and a canister of tea leaves would be a nice start. An expensive bottle of Coruscant's finest vintage would do nicely too.

Unclasping his cape, he draped it across a chair and crossed to the balcony doors. Fresh air was also a necessity and so he cracked one of the doors open.

The sound of falling rain filled his ears and its scent immediately filled the small room. Smiling a tired, but genuine smile, Yan slumped into the cushions of a sofa too short for his long frame. His old bones creaked as he shifted and his back protested mightily, but he only closed his eyes. For just a few hours he set aside the issue of his unknown future, the possibility that he could very well be sentenced to prison for the remainder of his life, and the anxious fear that Sidious would somehow still be able to reach him within the walls of the Temple. For just a short while, Yan slept.

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 _Please review if you get a chance! Any sort of constructive criticism is always welcome, so don't hesitate to leave any. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Enjoy! (This is a stage-setting chapter, so don't expect too much...)_

* * *

 _"It's the sad smile. It's a smile, but you're sad. It's confusing. It's like two emotions at once. It's like you're m_ _alfunctioning." The Doctor_

* * *

Anakin Skywalker sat alone in one of the Temple's cafeterias, having managed to somehow keep out of sight of the two clans of initiates currently making their dinner rounds. He wasn't in the mood for storytelling and hoped with everything in him that none of the kids glanced his way for more than half a second. Shifting slightly so that he faced mostly away from them, he turned his attention back to the meaty entrée sitting in a drab pile on his tray and the cold tubers lying next to it. Normally, he would have already been back for seconds and thirds by now. Actually, no. Strike that. _Normally_ , he would have been tripping over and bumping into Obi-wan as they concocted their own rendition of this exact meal back in their tiny kitchen. _Normally_ , they would have been enjoying a nice, relaxing evening together without having to think about anything outside of their rooms.

 _Normally,_ former Jedi-turned-Sith didn't turn themselves in after years of being saturated in evil for over a decade. _Normally_ , Count Dooku would be parsecs away wreaking havoc like a _normal_ Sith. _Normally…_ what? Anakin poked at his cold food, frowning as he brooded over the fact that nothing would be normal after today. Not that anything was ever normal where he and Obi-wan were concerned, but he liked to think that they had been approaching something close to it.

And now _this_. Dooku. His frown turned into a glower before he could stop it, but then he sighed. He would have to talk to Obi-wan as soon as the Council meeting ended and not a minute later. Unable to stop himself, he studied the cold metal, gears, and circuits that now constituted what he referred to as his "right arm". Its glove lay next to his dinner tray, a dull, black table decoration that only served to further dampen his mood.

Sith weren't supposed to turn themselves in. It was unthinkable. Especially for _Dooku._ The man was a cold-hearted, amoral killer that wore darkness as easily as he wore that blasted cape. Manipulation and destruction were his calling cards. So, apparently, was making the unexpected move.

" _Skywalker, before I say anything, you are not to speak a_ word _of this to anyone but Obi-wan. Do you understand?"_

It was only because of Obi-wan's choice to turn his comm off that Anakin even knew about Dooku. Windu wouldn't have contacted him for any other reason than to get a message to his former master, and while that _normally_ would have had him seething, instead he only felt numb. Numb with anger, frustration, and confusion. He didn't understand the purpose of a meeting.

Why not just execute the man and be done with it? The former Jedi had been responsible for the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of people. He had been one of the prime instigators of the present war. He was a war criminal, and the penalty for such crimes was death, at least by Republic standards. Did the Jedi Order not serve the Republic? Were they not subject to Republic law?

Anakin stood, slipping on his glove with a vicious yank. He dumped his tray of cold food into a trash bin and then exited the dining area.

He needed to meditate. Clear his thoughts. Do _something_ , anything, to calm the storm brewing in the back of his mind. But Padme was tied up with Senate business, not to mention off-world, and Obi-wan was in a blasted Council meeting.

Meditation wasn't happening. Not without either of them.

So, stride lengthening to a steady clip and eyes trained straight ahead, the young Jedi Knight navigated the quiet halls until he came to the one place in the Temple that was never quiet. Unfortunately, there was a clan of initiates here as well and they were just finishing up one of Cin's lessons. Two of them saw him enter and were not the least bit shy about pointing him out. Cin Drallig turned, looked him over once and waved him on.

Anakin nodded in thanks, ignoring the disappointed looks and groans of the students. Once he was safely ensconced in a private training room, he shed his robe, unclipped his lightsaber and began running through Djem-so katas with practiced movements.

Two hours later, having run through every kata more than a dozen times, Anakin closed his eyes and began again.

 _Normally,_ this would have worked by now.

Sweat ran off of his face in steady rivulets and his dark hair was plastered to his face and neck, but he only moved faster. Brow furrowed in deep concentration, Anakin Skywalker battled a familiar enemy, one he had battled for his entire life, but this time his enemy had a face.

It was distinguished, old, and belonged to a tall man in dark, dark robes. Weary, intelligent eyes stared back at him with mocking amusement. Anakin grunted, whipping his blade around in a wide arc that took the weapon straight through where the man's neck would have been.

This Dooku was only an illusion, however, and a powerful illusion as well. Deep, imaginary laughter echoed in Anakin's head and he cringed, opening his eyes. Breathing heavily, he took a few steps back and slumped against the wall. "It doesn't matter," he muttered to literally no one.

And it didn't, because even if the Council determined that Dooku be executed for his crimes, there would always be another evil man to take his place. Anakin, for all of his twenty-two years, had traveled plenty and learned enough. Count Dooku was not the only rotten man in this galaxy. Killing him wouldn't solve anything.

***oo***

Obi-wan frowned at the bottom of his mug, studying it through narrowed eyes. It was the second time he had done so in the last ten minutes and the result was the same. He was out of tea. Sighing, he set the mug down and raised a hand to rub at his temples. It felt like some microscopic creature had taken up residence behind his eyes and was bludgeoning the inside of his skull with an equally microscopic pair of drumsticks.

"Republic law demands we execute him." Agen's voice, cool with a distinct _edge_ to it.

"Yes, and so we shall." Saesee's voice, soft yet just as firm.

"Let's not be too hasty –"

"A few good deeds are hardly enough to erase years of wickedness, Master Koon," Mace interrupted, his own deep voice pitched at what Obi-wan deemed his 'you will not argue with me' tone.

It worked on younglings and fledgling knights, but not here. Ki-adi's yellow eyes flicked to the Korun man and held Mace's determined gaze with unflappable calm, and perhaps just a _hint_ of amusement. "I agree with Plo, my friend. In fact, it troubles me that you are so eager to execute a man who was once one of our own."

 _Nice,_ Obi-wan inwardly groaned. _Poking at a coiled Vaapad is not my idea of getting things done._

Predictably, Mace's eyes narrowed and the Force vibrated near his seat. Obi-wan, seated three seats to the man's right, felt the drumming in his head increase in intensity and gritted his teeth.

"I am never eager to kill a man, but the Force demands justice be done and a life in prison is the equivalent of a slap to the hand for a man with his record. He is no Jedi, Master Mundi. He said as much only a few hours ago."

Ki-adi's angular head tilted ever-so-slightly to the right, gaze unwavering. "And yet we are trying him as such, are we not?"

"So far, yes," Agen broke in. "But we shouldn't be. We should hand him over to Republic forces, to the Senate. He can face trial there, in front of those who represent all of the worlds he's ravaged."

Obi-wan remained silent. He had yet to decide where he stood on the issue of Count Dooku. For him, it was more personal and an issue that wasn't as far-reaching as it was for most everyone else. His fellow masters were speaking as though the situation should be treated as a Republic issue. An historic issue. Something that could decide the outcome of the war. Something that should be made as public as possible so that the galaxy could see that victory was not an impossible thing to hope for.

He glanced at the stack of flimsy on his armrest. The tea stains had long since dried, but they did nothing to blur the bold heading of the top page: "Tambor Issues Statement, Withdraws Funding."

Something in his gut churned and he closed his eyes, massaging his temples with greater force. The Techno Union and Baktoid Armor Workshop, both having long ago pledged themselves to the Separatist cause, had unexpectedly withdrawn their support. On the surface, this was spectacular news. Battle droids would no longer receive upgrades, the latest technology would no longer be weaponized and used against Republic forces… for the moment, whatever plans the Confederacy had for moving forward would have to be revised.

Until the Count had graced their Temple steps with his presence, Obi-wan had been baffled by the unexpected news. Happy, but baffled. Confused. He had wondered if the statement was a ruse meant to instill false hope. A tactic the Confederacy was using to try and throw them off.

Until Dooku.

The Jedi around him continued to professionally squabble over the correct path to take concerning the Sith – _former (?)_ Sith – but Obi-wan had ceased listening. Dooku's surrender lent much credence to a theory he had begun forming once he'd been handed the stack of reports upon his and Anakin's return. It made sense.

Sifting through the stack of flimsy, he scanned a few other articles. One article, published on a Holonet site known for its outlandish conspiracy theories, outlined in surprising detail an IBC cover-up in which Chancellor Palpatine was said to be bribing the Clan with accounts worth billions of Republic credits. Another article from a local publication on Malastare seemed to hint at a renewed military initiative that had been halted following the death of their Senator a few years prior. Aks Moe had been a staunch Loyalist, as was his successor, but even after reading the brief article a half dozen times to be certain he wasn't missing anything, Obi-wan was sure that this project was intended to provide new weapons technology for the Clone Army. For the Jedi. Having determined that he would be mindful of Senate dealings and politics many years ago, he had grown familiar with Moe's views. The senator had _never_ spoken favorably of the Order.

"Something to add, does young Obi-wan have?"

Yoda's throaty voice entered the fray for the first time since he had summarized his interaction with Dooku. It cut into Obi-wan's thoughts and brought him back to the present. Silenced by their wizened leader, every Jedi master turned and gave their youngest member their attention.

Obi-wan cleared his throat, undaunted by something as trivial as age. Yes, he was the youngest sitting member, and yes, he very much respected the knowledge and experience of his fellow members. He also was aware that he had been given these recent news clippings and various reports for a reason. They trusted his judgement, and so he would offer his opinion. Nevertheless, he would be tactful. "Yes, master," he nodded, glancing at Yoda. He was relieved to see that the old Jedi was smiling slightly. "I think that we are looking at this from the wrong perspective." He waited to see what sort of response that would garner, but was encouraged when no one protested. "While I agree with Master Windu that a few good deeds are not enough to redeem the Count, I am inclined to postpone a trial in favor of soliciting his help."

Silence continued to reign for what seemed an eternity until, predictably, Mace broke it. "The Jedi Order does not negotiate with _Sith_ , Obi-wan."

Obi-wan couldn't _quite_ keep himself from raising a brow in response to that lovely reminder. Not to mention that his dear friend was now back to using his name instead of his title, something almost unheard of in a _formal_ meeting. Translation: he was yet again being accused of carrying the maverick strain that his deceased former master had been known for; he was being told, rather sternly, that his negotiating prowess was not be used in matters that clearly called for more aggressive action; and he was being told that his proposition, to put it mildly, was ridiculous. He held the darker man's gaze for a long moment before glancing at the reports he had brought. The pages crinkled as he raised them up for emphasis. "I was told to analyze and come to a conclusion, and I have. Trust me when I say that I am attempting to be as objective as possible with this, because negotiating with the man who mutilated my former padawan and instigated this entire, Force-blasted war from the beginning is the last thing that I want to do."

Mace didn't look away, but he did nod. "Very well." _Forgive me._ "What do you propose, then?"

Obi-wan looked at each master in turn and then sighed. His head was still throbbing and almost everything in him screamed for Dooku's death, but there was a very small part of him that said to wait it out. To not act rashly. To _think_. And he had. He had thought about the blasted articles for over four _months_. The only thing that could possibly connect all of them was that someone, a key player, was covertly sabotaging the Separatist movement. Someone with enough influence and know-how to convince business, military, and political leaders to switch sides. Dooku was the only person he knew of with enough connections and enough savvy to accomplish such a difficult task, but he had initially dismissed it as impossible. Sith didn't turn light again. Especially ones that had left the Order.

But the theory hadn't been impossible enough to go away, because he had experiences to draw on as well. And though he sometimes resented the maverick reputation that his line of Jedi had acquired via Qui-gon, it was part of his nature and he couldn't ignore it. He couldn't ignore the nagging thought that maybe Force-users gone dark could maybe, possibly fall _back._ It was a belief that aggravated many of the sitting Council members to no end, but it was also a belief that had given Qui-gon hope for Xanatos, and one that gave Obi-wan hope for Ventress.

And perhaps now for Dooku. Glancing at Yoda, Obi-wan saw the same thoughts mirrored in the ancient Jedi's eyes and he attempted a smile. It fell flat, though. This hope was barely a thought, because Anakin was missing an arm, Ventress was missing any sort of moral guidance, and thousands had been robbed of their very lives due to Dooku's actions. It was almost inconceivable that such a dark soul could somehow be purified again.

Had the man ever _not_ carried some form of darkness with him?

Obi-wan doubted it, and now wasn't the time to be pondering such things. Right now, his proposition was the result of being a military leader in a war. If Dooku was, in fact, responsible for the blows dealt to the Separatists over the last few months, then he would be a valuable source of information in the months to come.

This was a strategic proposition, nothing more.

"I propose we interrogate him for information. If he is the one behind all of these unexpected changes, then his input will prove valuable and we will have acquired a key advantage in this war. Now is not the time to be discussing where he should be tried or whether or not he should be executed. That can come later. Right now, the war effort is more important."

The ensuing discussion centered on how to go about interrogating the Count. Most members, with the possible exception of Agen, agreed to postpone their previous discussion until later. Obi-wan participated in the discussion, contributing what he could, but his mind was elsewhere yet again. He felt Yoda's heavy gaze come to rest on him more than once, but he studiously avoided looking in the master's direction.

Blast strategy. Blast the war. Obi-wan had had quite _enough_ of war. With Dooku's insight, the chances of the Clone War ending increased exponentially, but there were other men like Dooku. Other men with ambition, power, and enough savvy to manipulate others to their own twisted ends.

And there was still another Sith out there, one more powerful than Dooku.

In the end, would Dooku's capture really make a difference? Perhaps, but Obi-wan was inclined to think that the difference wouldn't be made in regards to the war. One war ending only meant another was on the horizon. No. No difference there.

Blast Dooku. Blast the man to the nine Corellian _hells._ Obi-wan's gut continued to churn and the Force continued to offer up no answers in response to his desperate query.

Maybe the former Jedi had realized there was nothing to be gained from being another Sith's right-hand minion and was simply working both sides of the war now. It would certainly fit Dooku's style.

But it didn't fit with what Yoda had told them and Obi-wan trusted Yoda's judgement whole-heartedly. _A threat, he is not_ , the old master had said. So what did that mean?

The Force was silent. It was _silent_ , offering nothing.

Thirty some odd minutes later, Obi-wan returned to his and Anakin's quarters. He was sporting a rather impressive frown and his head was still throbbing incessantly. His friend had yet to return for the evening and so he set about brewing more tea and steadfastly refused to be distracted by the flimsy-covered table.

Clutching a steaming mug in his left hand, he slumped onto their well-worn couch and sipped at it absently. He needed to meditate, but he had an odd feeling that it wouldn't help this time. A picture planted itself firmly in his mind and refused to leave. Obi-wan wouldn't call it a vision, necessarily. He'd had plenty of those over the years to know the difference, as had Anakin.

He might call it foreshadowing, however, or perhaps it was just his imagination playing with the future. Whatever it was, it occupied his thoughts until he had sipped his mug dry.

 _He is seated across from Dooku, just the two of them in chairs. The man looks different than normal: tired expression, haunted eyes, slumped shoulders. It's a far cry from the predatory grace that typically defines the Sith. The usual spark of calculating intelligence is absent from the man's dark eyes. Bewildered, but unwilling to change course, Obi-wan leans forward. "Can an evil man change his ways, Count?"_

He always asked the same question, no matter how many times the image rewound and replayed. Dooku always refused to answer.

 _A smile plays across the Sith's face. There is no malice there. Nothing sinister, nothing coy. This is a real smile, Obi-wan is sure. But it is also a broken one and far too small to imply joy._

Obi-wan refilled his mug and sat down once more. _"Can an evil man change his ways, Count?"_ He blinked, hoping once more for something different, but Dooku only smiled again.

Late in the evening, after his fourth cup of tea, Anakin finally arrived. To Obi-wan's trained eye, he looked extremely unsettled. To anyone else, he would simply look grumpy. "Master…," he began.

The older Jedi smiled gently, betraying nothing of his own disturbing thoughts. "Obi-wan," he corrected. Then he shifted to his left and gestured to the empty seat. "We need to talk."

Anakin shut the door, threw his robe across one of the kitchen chairs, and then fell into the offered seat. "Please tell me the Council voted to kill him."

Obi-wan blinked.

" _Can an evil man change his ways, Count?"_

Looking at Anakin, he slowly shook his head. "Not yet." If this truly was a vision, and Dooku smiled at him like that in the near future, Obi-wan wasn't sure if he could ever vote to have him executed. It was a familiar smile, one he had seen on the faces of far too many Jedi as of late and one that he was sure had graced his own face a time or two.

He felt the sharp sting of anger over their bond and watched his protégé carefully. The young man was visibly trying to hold himself together. "And why not?"

Obi-wan sighed, looking away. "Because I advised against it."

"Of course you did," Anakin grunted before standing again. Glancing at the empty mug and then catching the equally empty look in his old friend's eyes, he extended his hand. "Want a refill?"

Somehow, someway, Obi-wan managed to chuckle. "Of course. Thank you." His eyes lingered on the gloved fingers of Anakin's hand. "I'm sorry, Anakin. He deserves to be executed, but right now it's imperative that we get as much information from him as we can…"

Anakin had turned from the broiler to fix him with a 'look'. "You know I'm not fluent in Council talk so don't even bother. You and I both know this has nothing to do with the war. It's just an excuse you can use to keep him alive."

Obi-wan glared. "A valid one."

"Yes," the knight said with a nod. "But it's still an excuse." He paused to add some herbs to the steaming water. "When's the interrogation?"

"We haven't decided. There will be another meeting tomorrow morning." Despite his friend's unusually reasonable tone, Obi-wan could feel the tension between them over their bond. Anakin was more than angry at his decision and he was letting him know it without visibly exploding.

Dark eyes that hinted at that anger stared him down. "How early?"

Obi-wan refused to be baited. He was too tired and needed to sleep, so in the face of Anakin's anger he only smiled. It wasn't difficult to see what his friend was really asking. "Breakfast at four. If you can drag your lazy hide out of bed quickly enough, then we can spend a couple of hours in the dojo before I need to be at the meeting. Good enough for you?"

With a curt nod, Anakin held out his refilled mug that he had not-so-subtly been holding hostage. "Good night then."

Obi-wan watched him disappear into his room, sipping at his tea. "Good night."

***oo***

Yan Dooku woke from a surprisingly restful sleep at a late hour. Glancing at the chrono he wore on his wrist – a bit old-fashioned but he didn't care – he sat up and promptly winced at the truly obnoxious _crack_ that split the silence of his quarters. His back would definitely not take another night on this particular couch.

Suddenly, the cracking ceased and there was an unfamiliar tingle of warmth crawling up his spine. Unfamiliar in the sense that he hadn't felt a healing touch in what seemed like an eternity, but he recognized who the touch belonged to easily enough. Tempted to risk closing his eyes and falling asleep once more (which would most definitely ensure outright paralysis because his back just couldn't take it), Yan instead turned to glower at the wrinkled Jedi master that was currently squatting on the floor close to his plant. "You are not welcome here at the moment," he said. "Leave."

Yoda's eyes caught what little bit of light was in the room and glinted with amusement. "Turn yourself in, you did. In your old quarters, you may be, but a prisoner, you still are. Belong to Dooku, these rooms do not."

Yan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to stave off the migraine that was beginning to brew there. "Why are you here?" he asked through gritted teeth. For not the first time, he cursed whatever thing had prompted him to return here. It wasn't the Force, for the Force was a tool, nothing more. Gut instinct, then? Yan frowned at the thought. He was eighty-three and beyond simple gut instincts.

Even so, he was temporarily safe and, if his plans went accordingly, would soon have access to the galaxy's largest collection of data.

"Convened, the Council has," Yoda answered as he fingered a leaf.

Yan snorted, throwing an exasperated look in the troll's direction. "Oh good. And what have the Order's foremost experts on all things Force-related decided? Am I to be tried and sentenced according to Republic law, or have the wise ones decided that I might be of some use?"

In spite of the dim lighting, Yan caught a brief flash of green fire as Yoda's eyes narrowed and his gnarled digits dropped back to his stick. " _Wise_ , it would be, to respect those in whose hands Dooku has placed his life. Demand justice, the Republic does, but so does the Code. Die, you should," Yoda hissed.

Yan schooled his face into a mask of indifference, but he couldn't deny that he felt slightly nervous facing down a truly unfamiliar being. Yoda had changed, and he reminded himself that even though some things had remained the same, many things had not. Perhaps he would be better served by reigning in his sarcasm. A difficult task, but he decided that he could manage it. "Perhaps," was all he said, holding the Jedi's gaze.

Yoda gestured towards a wall and the lights fluttered on. Bathed in light, Yan felt exposed, but he betrayed no discomfort. Yoda hobbled closer. "Believe you should live, you do?"

A dark brow, sprinkled with gray, ticked skyward. "I _believe_ you offered me a second chance not a few months ago… or am I mistaken?"

Yoda smiled. "Mistaken, you are not, but come _here_ for a second chance, you have not. A good Sentinel, you were, my old padawan, and an accomplished Sith, but Yoda knows Dooku. Hide from me, you cannot. Still searching, you are."

Yan narrowed his eyes. "That is no secret between us and it hasn't been for some time now. You don't know me as well as you'd like to think, _Jedi._ " He smirked when Yoda flinched. "Now what has the Council decided?"

"Evil, you are not, young one."

It was Yan's turn to flinch and he looked away. "I am no longer young," he muttered, frowning once more.

"Decided, the Council has, that much information to offer us, you have."

Yan was briefly grateful that Yoda decided to return to the subject at hand, until he processed the old Jedi's answer. "So I am to be interrogated?" he asked slowly. He was no fool. Having been a Sentinel for the Order for most of his Jedi years, Yan knew what interrogations entailed, especially if the person being interrogated decided to withhold information. In this situation, he was most definitely going to withhold information, and he knew that Yoda was aware of that. When he received no answer, he glanced at his former master. "You will learn no more than what I wish the Council to know. I promise you that."

Yoda's ears drooped slightly. "Suffer, you do not have to…"

Feeling more than a little _ticked_ off, Yan leaned forward so that Yoda would not be able to mistake just how _furious_ he was. _Fools, the lot of you!_ "I have _suffered_ more than you will ever know, old _friend._ " He spat the last word directly into the little creature's face. "If I suffer, it will be of my own doing, so be rest assured. Your precious conscience will be clear." He straightened, stood up and brushed by Yoda with a dismissive wave. "Now _leave._ "

Unsurprisingly, Yoda did _not_ leave. Instead, Yan still felt his eyes boring into the back of his skull, the weight of centuries' worth of memories behind them. "Know suffering, Yoda does," the Jedi snapped back, and for a second Yan was still proud that he could rile the little troll up so quickly. "Know _Yoda,_ you do _not._ "

Oh, really? Yan turned back around, eyes blazing, lips curling into a sardonic grin. "So the fact that I spent over a decade as your _padawan_ means nothing?"

"A very short time, that is," Yoda argued, voice firm and eyes daring Yan to disagree.

Yan very much disagreed. "In hindsight, yes, but I wasn't a normal Jedi and you started asking questions." He waited for just a hint of uncertainty to show in those green eyes and when it did, he continued. "You see, _Master_ Yoda, I may not know all eight hundred years of you, but I like to think I know you just a bit better than most."

"Then know, you must, that condone the Council's decision, I will, when the time comes."

Yan blinked, suddenly numb. He felt his expression go blank as well as he stared down at the little Jedi. "Do I truly mean nothing to you?" he muttered.

Yoda sighed, ears drooping even lower this time. "Mean very much to me, you do, young Dooku. Strayed, you have. Very badly. Convince the other masters to give you a second chance, I may not be able to."

Yan watched him for a moment longer and then looked away. "What will it take to convince them?" he asked quietly. He hated this. He hated having to _submit_ to those he had very little respect for, though if there was one thing that he really didn't deserve, it was a second chance. If there was any sliver of hope that they would grant him that, then he would be an idiot to not try for it. Even if it meant he be reduced to groveling, though he _dearly_ hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Their questions, answer them honestly. If sense deceit, they do, then save you, I cannot."

Yan smiled at this. It was such a _Jedi_ answer, full of moral judgements while completely ignorant of the hypocrisy that would actually take place. "They will sense what they want to sense and neither you nor I will be able to change that."

"Clarity, the Force will bring –"

And Yan could only laugh. " _Clarity?_ Have you _looked_ at my signature at all? Tell me, what do I _feel_ like? Can you honestly expect any member of the Council to look at me and expect anything but lies to come out of my mouth? I am _drenched_ in darkness. I have been for years, so don't expect them to see anything different than that."

"Wanted to execute you, they did, but changed their minds, they have."

This made him hesitate and when he looked back at Yoda, he couldn't even be annoyed with the small smile on the diminutive gnome's face. He was serious. Those Force-blinded fools actually believed he had something to offer them and that he would be forthcoming. "You said that they still aren't convinced…"

"Convinced that you should live, they are not. True, that is, but convinced that a hasty decision they should not make, they are. A theory, young Obi-wan has, that betrayed your master, you have."

 _Kenobi._ The man was clever, Yan would grant him that. Not that he had really put much effort into hiding his work, but it took more than just average wit to see those connections. He looked away again and strode towards his – no, not _his_ , for these rooms didn't belong to him apparently – back door, opening it to let in some cool air. Yoda must have shut it earlier… "And it is because of this theory that the Council has agreed to postpone my execution?"

"Postponed the _decision_ , we have, in favor of a second chance."

Staring at the clear sky and millions of stars, Yan could almost believe it. "I suppose I should be grateful, but I am more inclined to be amused," he said dryly. Pivoting smoothly, he held the ancient creature's gaze. "Call it what you will. I shall attempt to be forthcoming when the time arrives. Now, I would appreciate it very much if you would leave me to my own devices."

To his astonishment, he was granted the smirk that he had hoped for. Yoda's face puckered up with the expression and looked rather like a green raisin on growth enhancers, but for Yan it was a small victory. "Devise anything, you will _not_ ," Yoda responded, humming with amusement. Then his eyes focused and his old student could _feel_ the weight of his next words. "Waste this opportunity, you should not, padawan. Fear for you, I do, but beginning to hope, I am. For many years, Yoda has had little to hope for."

Yan's retort died in his throat when Yoda turned and hobbled out of his – _not_ his – quarters. Hope? His knees popped when he spun around again and walked outside. The rain was no longer falling, but Yan could still smell it in the air. Flicking a couple of fingers over his shoulder, he doused the lights with barely a thought. Smothered in shadows once more, he sighed. He was safer in shadow, where Sidious couldn't reach him, at least he _hoped_ not.

Smiling to himself and studying Coruscant's bright cityscape, Yan decided that he had become a truly desperate man to hope for so much.

* * *

 _Not sure about this chapter, but I felt it needed to be written. New characters to come in the next chapter, and things will begin to move along_ _a bit. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_FYI... I removed the last section of the previous chapter because it didn't feel right to me, so for those of you who read it when that part was still attached, you'll want to forget that part. It's been about a month, so you may have forgotten already anyway..._

* * *

 ** _"A magician pulls bunnies out of empty hats. An Evil Lord pulls reptiles out of dank and crawling pits and places writhing muddy serpents in the cradles of infant saints." Calvin Miller (_ The Singer Trilogy _)_**

* * *

They sat on a fat tree root covered in thick, green moss and smudged in bog slug slime trying to remember the last time they'd been to Coruscant. Not in terms of when, because it had been almost exactly six months since they'd been to the Order's primary Temple. They remembered the time frame just fine. It was hard to remember what it looked like, though, and (unsurprisingly) it was very hard to remember what it _felt_ like.

"Not like here," Jiro said, kicking his legs out and letting them swing freely just above the damp, muddy ground.

Kennan studied his friend for a moment and then smirked before looking away. "No. Definitely not like here," he agreed. Neither of them really knew what that meant, but they did know that Coruscant was very different from Bogden 3. "There weren't forests." This he said with a frown, already disappointed that for the duration of their trip they would have to go without giant mossy trees draped in corded vines.

"There were gardens." Jiro sounded hopeful, but Kennan could hear the slight undertone of defeat as well. Gardens weren't the same. They weren't _natural._

He tore a small tuft of moss from the root and rolled it between his fingers. Then, smiling, he reached over and swiftly stuck it to one of Jiro's horns before the boy could react. Scowling, the Zabrak youth reached up and tugged it off, flicking it straight into Kennan's face. "There won't be any moss there either," he sniped.

Kennan laughed as they both slid off of the giant root. Pivoting almost as one, they ducked under the same root and headed back to the training facility. "That's okay. I'm sure there will be plenty of strange foods I can stick to your head instead."

"I'm sure they'll stick to your pointy nose just the same."

They both smirked at each other, somewhat heartened that Coruscant might have at least one redeeming quality. It took them only a short while to return to the training facility that they currently called home and Kennan entered first, shoving through the rounded double doors with his shoulders. Colors of all sorts greeted the two initiates and both grew sober as they remembered that here was another thing they would miss: warm colors and homey spaces. "There definitely isn't any orange there," Jiro murmured, striding past his friend and heading for the stairs.

Kennan followed, surveying the long table that they ate meals at and the tall pillars that surrounded it, holding up the facility's only second floor. The space was clean, as Master Du Mahn preferred it, but it was still welcoming. Though empty of the usual open books, scribbled-on sheets of flimsy, and scattered droid parts (Nable never stopped tinkering), the area still felt comfortable. Windows lined the front wall, bordering a stunning view of the moon's landscape. Towering trees stood not in clumps, but alone, dotted across the ground for as far as they could see. A single tree sucked up more water per day than (by Kennan's humble estimate) an afternoon shower dropped in an entire hour. If they grew in clumps, those particular trees would suck an entire square mile dry all by themselves. Bogden 3 was a wet, borderline swampy moon and the vegetation that thrived there was greener than the finest green the Jedi Order's famed Gardens had to offer.

Surrounding the facility were strange rock formations that really weren't rock at all. They looked like a bunch of flat slabs of mud stacked on top of one another with a few vertical tree trunk looking things mashed in between. Rising thin to fat, they also looked like they could topple over at any moment, but all six of the facility's residents knew that they were as permanent as the planet's core. Bog slugs were amazing architects, and over thousands of years they had built their own city of towering dirt hardened with their own special blend of saliva and other bodily secretions. The boys were fascinated by them and had even climbed them more than once when Du Mahn wasn't paying attention. Sidirri, on the other hand, was disgusted by them.

"Come on, Ken. We're already late." Kennan tore his eyes from the view and rushed towards the stairs. Jiro was already halfway up and he scrambled to follow. The orange pillars disappeared from view as they rushed around the bend at the top. Running town the short hallway, they skidded to a stop, straightened their robes, grimaced at the brown stains that the tree root had left, and entered the facility's secondary kitchen.

"You're late, boys."

Both of them grimaced and mumbled out a "sorry, master" even as they moved to the sink to wash their hands. Du Mahn, though of only average height, seemed to tower over her clan's initiates, especially when she wore that particular expression. Her mouth was drawn in a flat line and her eyes were sharp as they stared at the two boys. Noting the brown stains, Kennan's disheveled blonde hair, and the tiny bit of moss remaining on Jiro's horn, her mouth softened into a resigned smile. "No harm done. I understand your need to get out one more time before we leave. However, I expect you two to have at least three pages written before going to your dorm for the night. Unless you happened to take your datapads with you while you were out…" At their sheepish smiles, she sighed. "I thought not. Now if you two are done washing your hands, you can help Nable form the dough while Sidirri and I finish the filling."

Jiro nodded, eagerly jumping over to a counter on the other side of the kitchen where Nable stood already separating a dense dough into balls. The six-year old, blue skinned boy had to stand on a stool to reach the surface and his slightly too big robes hung just below his feet. Turning, his dark eyes narrowed as he glared at the older boy. "Bout time you guys showed up," he said.

Jiro only rolled his eyes and grabbed some dough.

Kennan looked around the kitchen and then back at Master Dahn. "Where's Mister Char?"

Du made sure to give him a disapproving look before she smiled at the nickname. " _Ciar_ ," she said, emphasizing the poor man's given name (though Force knew their dear chef adored the moniker), "is visiting Bogden for the day to restock some of his ingredients. He plans to have our freezing unit filled to capacity by the time we return."

Kennan nodded, moving to join the other two boys at the counter. He would miss the man. All of them would. And they would have to put up with the Temple's cafeteria food until their swordsmanship module was completed. It would only be seven weeks, granted, but having been practically raised on the spicy and savory flavors of Ciar's meals, everything else tasted bland in comparison.

No trees, no colors, no delicious food, no bog slug towers, and no moss to stick to Jiro's horned head. As he rolled the dough between his palms and flattened it into the thinnest squares he could manage, Kennan again caught his clan master's eye. She was studying him and he stared right back, hiding nothing.

He would never hide from her. None of them would. The Jedi Order had that going for them, at least. They definitely understood where to place their younglings, but for the Hawkbat Clan, and the few others scattered around the galaxy, things were a little different. Well-placed they might be (Force knew he would have gone off his rocker long ago if not for Master Du and his three clan mates), but any time they visited the Temple for instruction on a subject that Master Du was unable to teach them (she had a blade and was proficient, but not to the point of being willing to instruct these particular children…), Kennan felt like something of an outsider. Judging by the sudden silence that had fallen over the kitchen and the almost silent, slightly wounded sigh that escaped Master Du's lips, the rest of them were equally familiar with the feeling.

"Will he be back before we leave?" Sidirri's quiet voice broke the silence; it was the first time Kennan had heard her speak all day. Normally a talkative, rather precocious girl, it was clear that she was just as disappointed to be leaving as the rest of them.

Du glanced down at her, taking in the thick black hair and the dark brows furrowed in concentration that had nothing to do with the red-hued fruit that she was currently mashing to mush. "No, Sid, I'm sorry," she answered. "He wanted to be here to say goodbye to all of you, but the markets opened early and he wanted to get the best of the selections available. You know how he is with herbs and fruits…" she trailed off.

"And meats, and veggies," Nable's soft voice picked up where she left off.

"And bread, and sauces," Kennan put in with a smile, glad for the distraction.

"Not to mention that he probably needed a new pestle thing to grind all of his herbs with, and only of the finest quality so that he can get the right consistency –"

"Yes, Jiro," Du cut in with a chuckle. "Only the finest. He is a rather fine cook."

Sidirri stopped mashing and surveyed the goop with a small smile. "I think it's ready, master."

"Excellent. Boys?"

Nable gestured at their counter. "We're ready!"

Their youngest member's enthusiasm was infectious, and soon they were all chattering about how much Master Drallig would enjoy their take on Kanali Wafers. For just a couple of hours, while they baked the wafers and discussed whether or not they had reached the desired level of crisp, the dreaded flight to the Temple was forgotten.

Or at least it was set aside. Du Mahn felt herself relax as she watched her clan smile and laugh and occasionally argue with one another. For now, none of them were afraid. She was no fool. All of them, even little blue-skinned, bald-headed Nable, knew that this was a mere distraction. A means of stalling the inevitable.

She could hear the subtle tightness in Sidirri's laugh. _"Careful with this one. There's an edge to her signature that's not easily explained…"_

Nable's laughter was a touch exaggerated. _"Wearing a mask comes far too easily to him. It's a bit unsettling at times…"_

Jiro's laugh was an obvious phony and it was apparent that he wasn't trying very hard to hide that fact. _"He does what he wants, when he wants, and how he wants. If I wasn't a Jedi, I would wish you all the luck in the universe..."_

Kennan only smiled. There was no laughter from him, and it didn't surprise her. _"He's a bit blurred around the edges. Not a happy child. A bit broody…"_

Du was not one to question those who placed the Order's younglings into clans appropriate to their temperaments. It was a tradition that worked and one that she wholeheartedly approved of, yet she often wondered why some clans got branded with a certain stigma.

And then she wondered (every time they returned to the Temple) why other Jedi wondered why these children felt like outcasts. It was no surprise that the Hawkbat Clan typically only graduated one or two initiates to apprenticeships every cycle. The rest typically ended up in one of the Order's service corps, which was fine with her. Du had the utmost confidence in all of her students, no matter where they ended up.

She just wished that the Order would show just as much faith in them as she did. Force knew these children needed it.

***oo***

"Did you even sleep?"

Obi-wan surveyed his friend's appearance through bloodshot eyes. It appeared as though Anakin had gotten at least a few hours of good sleep, which was more than he could say for himself. He currently felt every bit of his thirty-eight, war-ravaged years. "Yes, just not as well as you apparently did," he muttered. Which was a miserable understatement. Obi-wan wagered he might have gotten an hour or two max.

Even so, it wasn't as if Anakin looked much better. Having already looked at himself once in the mirror when he'd managed to drag himself off of the couch, Obi-wan could say with certainty that they both resembled the zombified Geonosians that they had encountered barely two years prior. Only neither of them had worms writhing around in their skulls, which was definitely a comforting thought. At least they were in control of their faculties, however tenuous that control was.

"Great. So. Breakfast?" Anakin gestured towards the kitchen while Force-pulling a sweat-stained tunic from his room.

Obi-wan, already dressed in his own sweat-stained clothes (a light t-shirt and loose-fitting trousers), nodded. "Right."

Breakfast consisted of meal bars and nutrient shakes. They hadn't had time yet, or hadn't _taken_ the time, to restock their cupboards and cooling unit with cookable ingredients. Besides, they were used to the bland tasting rations, had lived off of them for the better part of three years. Why change what worked? Obi-wan threw a robe on and walked into the hall still munching on his bar. Anakin, a bit thrown by his former master's utter disregard for proper Jedi Master attire, followed suit. "Feeling alright, master?"

He received an uncharacteristic snort in answer. "I am feeling quite alright, thank you."

Or perhaps it wasn't Obi-wan's behavior that was throwing him off, but instead it was Obi-wan's behavior in this particular setting that wasn't adding up. At the Temple, Obi-wan was Master Kenobi, Council Member and quintessential Jedi Master. He was composed. In the field, when they were at war, when they were facing insurmountable odds and watching men _die_ , Obi-wan was General Kenobi, Negotiator and peerless tactician. He was still composed.

And on a few rare occasions, when they found themselves in a cantina on some slodgy planet rife with shoddy slums and the dregs of society, trying to drown their sorrows in a companionable drink, Obi-wan was just Obi-wan. Still the quintessential Jedi Master, still a peerless tactician, but also a snarky, sarcastic, and genuinely lovable _chosski_ that Anakin could quite easily relate to. There were cracks in his composure at those times. Granted, it wasn't only run-down cantinas that brought that side of the man out, but it most certainly wasn't the pristine and sacred hallways of the Temple that typically garnered an appearance.

He supposed it was the lack of sleep. Not to mention Dooku.

"I think the more appropriate question is are _you_ alright?"

Anakin blinked. His musings disappeared beneath an onslaught of the previous night's discussion and he frowned. Glaring at the back of the man's head, he decided to allow the misdirection while simultaneously vowing to bring it up later. Obi-wan was _not_ fine, but then again neither of them were. The questions were mere small talk for them, the answers pretense.

"Yeah. Doing great. Thanks."

Well, poorly-disguised pretense at any rate. At least in his case.

Obi-wan snorted again. They walked in silence and passed no one during their twenty-minute jaunt to the lower-level dojo. It was beyond early and still dark. Which was why it was a surprise to both of them when, upon entering the vast training facility, one of the first private rooms was lit by flashes of violet light. Obi-wan barely glanced at it before moving on, but Anakin offered an audible reaction.

"Huh."

They took the room four doors down. It was supposed to be a _private_ meditation session, after all. Neither one of them wanted Mace Windu barging in or somehow catching a stray thought, though it seemed that the Korun man was busy enough with his own "meditation".

"So just so you know," Anakin drawled as he tossed his cloak into a corner, "even though I've been nice this morning and asked how you are and am slightly _concerned_ with the way you're projecting your feelings all over the place, and even though I kindly let you get away with that awful answer you gave me about being fine, I'm still going to whup your smug Soresu keester all the way to Tatooine. I'm still not happy about Dooku." _Not happy about him being alive_ went unsaid. When Obi-wan set his nicely folded robes next to the Anakin's wrinkled puddle of cloak and turned to skewer him with a very pointed glare, Anakin merely raised a brow in challenge. " _Are_ you fine?"

Obi-wan's own brow ticked up. "I think my _projected feelings_ can answer that for you."

"Right. Because we can't have Obi-wan Kenobi admitting that he's not okay, or unbalanced, or whatever you want to call it," he retorted, rolling his eyes and looking away. The man deserved the sarcasm, but that didn't mean that Anakin wanted to face down the response _he_ deserved for dishing it out. He strode to the center of the spacious room and unclipped his lightsaber, igniting it with a tight flourish and reveling in the way it hummed to life. Grinning, he smirked in Obi-wan's direction, "Allow me to show you just how _wrong_ you were to allow that _sleemo_ to live."

And honestly? His grin held no humor and his eyes weren't dancing with laughter. Anakin was projecting much more than Obi-wan was and if his former master was thrumming with unspent frustration like a quiet, steady peel of thunder, then Anakin was the thunderhead itself. Neither of them were fooled by the other's words and it was a small miracle that they hadn't had a full blown argument already.

All pretense faded as Anakin's sliver of a grin flattened out and his eyes narrowed. Obi-wan stared at him for a moment, expression just as neutral as it had been all morning. Then, blue eyes cooling just a touch, he called his 'saber to his right hand and turned it on. Another hum with a slightly lower pitch joined Anakin's, but the young knight swore he felt just the slightest tingle in the Force as well. It was a warning.

 _Don't push me._

The younger Jedi only grinned again, nodding in acknowledgement. _Noted._ Out loud he said, "Just let it out, master."

"Obi-wan," his friend corrected, twirling his blade once. "Your move."

It was, as it always was. Anakin initiated and Obi-wan gave ground. It was simply the way of things for them, so that was how it went this time as well. Within moments they were immersed in a familiar dance of sapphire light, humming song, and deft blade work. It was in _this_ that the real discussion took place. It was here that words were shamelessly spoken and emotions were launched as vicious assaults or clever counters.

As Anakin mercilessly pounded away at Obi-wan's infuriating defensive wall (every cut and every jab a needlepoint cry of _WHY?_ ), flashes of memories flooded out from behind his friend's cool stare and thrumming weapon. Had this been a normal "meditation", it would have taken him _hours_ to drag those images from Obi-wan's stubborn head, but they already had less than two hours left and it seemed that his old master didn't want to take the convoluted mess with him to the meeting.

So that left Anakin to deal with it, which was a problem since he wasn't in a good way himself.

The first memory almost brought him to his knees, it was that _vivid._

" _Train the boy, Obi-wan."_ Suddenly Qui-gon was lying on the cold, hard floor _bleeding_ and his master was left to pick up the pieces and makes some sense of it. Was that all Anakin was? Just a reminder of what Obi-wan lost that day? He hated the fact that that was all he could think of when faced with that memory. It had been a tragic day for both of them, one that he won't ever forget. Sometimes (usually when things were tense between them), he wondered what life might have been like had Qui-gon lived and become his master. Would there have been any less pain? Any less hatred? Any less war?

And what did this have to do with _Dooku_?

The explanation would have to wait (in fact, he might not ever get one), because Obi-wan decided to take that moment to turn a swift parry into a flickering jab directed at his leg and he was forced to rebound, stumble back and recover. Just for a moment, though. Had it been a real duel, he knew that he would be in trouble right about now (a devastating blend of Ataru's sweeping attacks and Soresu's precision made for a wicked onslaught), but Obi-wan was just standing there. His weapon was held tightly in a white-knuckled fist and he was staring at Anakin with an almost furious look in his eyes.

 _He should have been there._

The words slithered across their bond and drove into Anakin with the force of a million days spent in hopeless struggle. He lowered his blade. "Dooku?" he asked in total disbelief. "What would _he_ have done?"

Suddenly words were slipping from Obi-wan's mouth with haphazard flippancy, almost like he was trying to be serious, but dismissing them as unworthy of consideration. "He would have saved him, or he could have _helped_ me… Force knows I desperately needed _someone_. But no. He decided to leave and then start a blasted _war_ , and now everything is so messed up I can't see a single way to fix it and he's showing up demanding protection and Force knows what else…" He trailed off, looking away but gesturing towards Anakin all the same. "He took your arm and I watched him do it, because he'd made me _helpless_. He trained Grievous to kill and the monster's done his job just splendidly. And _Ventress_ …"

Another image, this one far more ghastly than the last and just as potent, flashed briefly before Anakin's eyes. Obi-wan, helpless again, writhing and moaning and bleeding at the assassin's feet while she simply smiled down at him and unleashed additional tortures, each more toxic and more damaging than the last. It had taken _months_ to put Obi-wan back together again. Even now, Anakin knew he still suffered from the experience.

His blade hummed as he gestured angrily. "Then why not kill him?!" he asked. "It's the only thing he deserves!"

This time, in a much more predictable fashion, Obi-wan ran a hand through his hair and turned to look at him again. "I had a vision. Well, not _precisely_. I don't really know what to call it… but he looked so _lost._ "

"Because he _is_ ," Anakin agreed, growing impatient and itching to continue their duel. Then Obi-wan shook his head and he suddenly understood. He sighed, feeling drained even though they'd only been sparring for a short time.

"Broken, Anakin. Broken. He looked defeated, and he looked awfully similar to how you look after we've won a battle after days of fighting." Pausing, blade disappearing into its hilt, he walked over and unfurled his cloak. "He looked like me in the mirror after you'd gotten me off Jabiim."

Right. And now his master had put Dooku in the same group as Ventress and a small part of Anakin hated him for that. Hated him for being able to _do_ something like that. To be able to take an evil person and look at them as someone worth saving. "You're confused." It wasn't a question, because he _knew_ this man.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Obi-wan's face. "Am I that obvious?"

Anakin still couldn't bring himself to smile, but he felt himself grow a little lighter. Some of the anger melted away at least. "You never speak a million miles a minute like that, so yes. You don't know whether you should try to save him or condemn him."

Obi-wan's eyebrows rose. "Are you okay with the first?"

"No."

Obi-wan didn't even bat an eye at his answer. He only nodded. "I didn't think so."

"But it's not my decision to make either." That was what he despised the most about this entire situation. _Nothing_ was within his power; it all rested in the hands of the Council.

Another memory, this one still fresh (it always would be), ripped through his thoughts and left yet another bloody trail. His mother, head lolling lifelessly across his arms. Tuskens lying in pieces beneath his feet, just as Obi-wan had been at Ventress' feet.

He shuddered and felt some of the old fury rise, but he kept it beneath the surface where it simmered for a bit and then shrunk again. "I guess it's for the best," he said through gritted teeth. He glanced at his blue lightsaber for a second and then flicked it off. "Let me know what happens at the meeting."

And that was it, barely twenty minutes in. Anakin stalked down the dimly lit hall alone, leaving Obi-wan in the room by himself. The Jedi master left a moment later, but he didn't get far. Flashes of violet drew his attention and he stopped to watch until Mace Windu powered down his weapon and noticed him in the window.

They left for the meeting together. Two sweaty, confused, and conflicted Council members trying to make sense of things and failing miserably.

***oo***

Four hours later, when Yoda knocked on Yan's door (but it wasn't really _his_ door), Yan was out on the balcony watching the sunrise. He had missed this. The quiet beauty of something so simple. He had watched something similar at his home on Serenno dozens of times. On that planet, the sunrises were spectacles to behold and every now and then he had been able to pause and watch one. Then the good senator had approached him with a proposition, revealed a power the likes of which Yan hadn't ever seen before (nor had he seen its equal since), and Yan was following him like a starving akk pup who'd just stumbled upon a wounded animal.

The brilliant, golden rays that were flashing between Coruscant's towering buildings weren't even close to the orange fire that typically burned bright behind Serenno's snow-capped peaks, but for now they were enough to subdue the tremble that began at the thought of his old master. He wasn't strong enough to face the monster alone and Yan feared that he never would be.

"Trying to be polite, I am." Yoda's voice again, sounding from behind the closed door.

Yan sighed, turning away. Yoda wasn't strong enough either. He crossed the small living space and opened the door, peering down at the Jedi. "Well?"

Yoda gestured. "Take you to the Council, I will."

Yan blinked and made no move to leave. "I am to be questioned _now_?"

"Yes," Yoda answered, and Yan was sure that he could see amusement hiding behind his serious expression. "Decided, we did, that give you time to prepare, we should not."

Yan felt an unexpected urge to laugh at the flippant response, but instead he buried it beneath a rush of irritation. Still staring down at the old troll, Yan Force-pulled his cloak into his left hand and threw it on. He stepped out of his – blast Yoda's opinion, it was _his_ – apartment and shut the door with a soft click, managing to catch a sliver of golden sunlight before it latched.

"Beautiful, it is."

Yan frowned. "Yes." _Until you interrupted._

Yoda huffed and hobbled on ahead. They walked in silence down the dimly lit corridors. There were not many Jedi out at this time and Yan was grateful for that. It simply wouldn't do to be paraded in front of a packed Temple as a prisoner of war, albeit a prisoner without Force-cuffs and with a single Jedi master as his escort (granted that escort was _Yoda_ ).

As they neared the entrance to the Council chambers, Yan saw Kenobi talking to Ki-adi Mundi in hushed tones near the doorway. When the taller of the two saw them walking over, he spoke a few words and then disappeared inside. Kenobi turned, caught Yan looking, and stared. Yan didn't like what he saw there, but when he drew level with the man he stopped and schooled his face into a senatorial expression, mocking in its arrogance. "Master Kenobi," he drawled. "Are you staying for the proceedings?" When Kenobi didn't immediately reply, he had a feeling that the blasted man had seen straight through his sarcastic exterior and into the anxious storm within.

Gray-blue eyes stared unflinchingly into his own and his feeling was confirmed a moment later. "Consider yourself fortunate that I'm not, Count. I'm finding it hard to be _objective_ ," Kenobi snapped. He glanced down at Yoda, nodded, and left without another word, though not without a parting barb. Yan flinched when he felt a sharp jab against his heavily-guarded mind.

Yoda sighed next to him. "Finding this difficult, young Obi-wan is."

Young? Yan stared at Yoda in surprise. Those weren't the eyes of a young man that he'd just stared into. In fact, behind the anger and frustration Yan was sure that he'd seen a touch of sympathy as well and he wondered how on earth Kenobi could possibly hope to sympathize with his situation. "I am not surprised."

Yoda was silent as he gestured for Yan to enter the room. He did so without hesitation though not without caution. Kenobi's brief stab at his mind had been forceful enough and he was reminded that these were some of the most powerful wielders of the Force in the entire galaxy. Even though he doubted that they would be able to penetrate his mind should he force the issue, Yan had learned a long time ago to never underestimate his foe. It wasn't until he was properly situated in the center of the room that he raised his eyes and met the gaze of the first master to enter his line of sight. Unfortunately, that master was Plo Koon and Yan had absolutely no hope of getting a read on the Kel Dorian Jedi, not with almost his entire face smothered in a breathing apparatus and light-sensitive _goggles_ covering his eyes. So absorbed was he in attempting to figure out a way around these obstructions that he completely missed the first half of Mace Windu's introductory statement.

"… do you understand?"

Yan blinked. Koon's face was literally and figuratively an impenetrable mask, so he turned to face the Master of the Order. Reading Mace Windu was a different matter entirely. It required absolutely no guesswork at all, not that he appreciated that fact. The Korun Jedi was so confident in his own abilities that he felt it was a pointless task to try and hide anything, and right now Yan could tell that the man meant business. This interrogation was not going to be pretty if he decided to be stubborn and withhold answers. So he made sure that his face was set in stone and answered what he was sure had been a mandatory explanation of how the interrogation would take place. "Yes."

Nodding once, Windu continued. "Good. Then we shall proceed. Over the last three and a half months, researchers within the Order have collected and documented multiple reports and articles that seem to indicate a movement against Separatist factions. Upon Master Kenobi's arrival at the Temple, he was given the assignment to analyze this research and provide us with possible explanations as to the party or parties behind this movement. One of his conclusions, though deemed highly unlikely at the time, was that you had betrayed your allies and become a traitor to the Confederacy. Is this true?"

"No."

It wasn't difficult to detect the pulsing undercurrent of surprise that vibrated throughout the room. Even Yoda's brows furrowed slightly. Windu merely narrowed his eyes. "No?"

Yan's expression remained neutral, but inwardly he sighed. It would be much easier and things would proceed in a timelier manner if he elaborated without having to be prompted. He knew this even though he disliked it. Before answering the unspoken inquiry, however, Yan needed something from them. "Tell me, Master Windu, if I am to respectfully and sufficiently answer all of your questions – in other words, divulge potentially self-implicating information – and if I am able to _prove_ myself harmless to the Jedi dwelling in this Temple and elsewhere, what is it that I gain? Such information is worthy of more than simple protection, wouldn't you agree?"

Windu's eyes seemed to darken into black as they narrowed even further. It was the only indication that Yan had already taken things a step too far. "For someone of your past and current standing, I believe your answering of these questions is merely obligation on your part. The fact that you _may_ receive protection from this Order is simply a strategic maneuver that one of our members recommended. Should you choose to not answer our questions adequately, then your usefulness will have run its course."

 _Then you will be handed over to the Senate._ Yan heard the unspoken statement clearly enough. He frowned. "Then let me ask the Council a question, and I will only ask it once: can you look beyond my past and see not a Count, nor a Sith, nor even a shadow of a Jedi, but simply me. Yan Dooku. Are you capable of doing that?"

Windu's's face turned into a mirror as he echoed Yan's frown. No one said anything for a long minute and then a voice spoke up from behind him and he had to turn to see the speaker's face. "Speaking for myself, I believe I can," Ki-adi murmured, cerulean clear eyes observing him with obvious interest.

Mumbles and grunts of agreement followed, but Windu remained silent. When Yan turned to Yoda, the green Jedi smiled. "See you, I do, young Dooku."

Softly spoken words, but Yan believed them.

Finally, a broken sigh escaped Master Windu and he relented. "I will do my best to _try_ , but you will forgive me if I slip up once or twice."

Well. Forgive him? No, but Yan supposed he could _tolerate_ a slip up or two. Desperately wanting to smirk, Yan barely kept his expression indifferent. "Very well."

"So," Windu continued, gesturing impatiently. "Explain your answer. You say you are not a traitor to the Confederacy, yet clearly you are a traitor to _someone_."

"Traitor implies a betrayal of trust, a commodity that has not existed for quite some time. I assure you I am not a traitor to anyone, least of all the Confederate Systems."

More frowning greeted this response and before Windu could speak again, Yoda interrupted. "Treachery is the way of the Sith and a Sith you once were." Yoda's green eyes glittered with amusement. "Playing with loopholes, you are. A fine speaker of words, Dooku has always been. If young Kenobi had stayed, a very entertaining discussion, we would be witnessing."

This drew a few chuckles, effectively breaking the tension that had been building. Yan finally allowed a small smile to slip into place and this also seemed to relax most of the Council members. "I've no doubt, master." The last word slipped out before he could stop himself and he mentally cursed himself for letting it.

Yoda's amusement became more evident. "Betray a Sith Lord, you did not. Betrayal… exist, it does not, among those who value it and teach it. A fine Sith, Dooku was –"

"No," Yan cut in. "Had I been a true Sith, my master would be dead and I would not be standing here. Treachery always ends in death and for those who would call themselves Sith, death is not of the collateral sort. It is intended and it is direct and it results in promotion for the one who grants it. A fine Sith, I was _not_."

Yoda's amusement remained and Windu decided to resume his line of questioning. "Now that we've established the fact that you haven't betrayed anyone, why don't you expound on what you _have_ done. Master Kenobi may have made a small semantic mistake in branding you a traitor, but you _have_ been causing some significant ripples in this war. Why?"

Yan sniffed and clasped his hands behind his back. Perhaps he could end this interrogation before it truly began. "As I have already told Master Yoda, I want rest and that is something I will never find as long as this war continues. I have many connections on many planets, most of which your Order could never hope to attain. What you have seen and what Kenobi has so astutely discovered in your research is my utilization of those connections to effectively bring an end to this war. I do not seek to bring an end to the Confederate cause, nor do I seek to cripple the Senate or the Order. I merely seek a _truce_ , Master Windu."

"A truce." It came from behind him, so he pivoted to face the new speaker. It was Agen Kolar, a member of the Council that Yan wasn't very familiar with. "How?"

Yan quirked a brow at the zabrak's obvious disbelief. "Gentlemen," he began, easily transitioning into the man that had once convinced hundreds of systems to join the Separatist Movement. "Perhaps you have forgotten how this war began."

"Geonosis," Windu spat at his back. "Don't you _dare_ suggest that we could _ever_ forget that senseless slaughter."

Yan whirled on him, bristling. "I was not referring to that bloody arena," he bit out. "But as long as you deign to bring it up, why _don't_ we talk about that for a moment? Tell me, _Jedi_ , all of you… had I ordered a _sentient_ army against your fellow Order members instead of a droid army, would that slaughter have been so one-sided? Would you have hesitated _then_? Forgive me for saying so, but I am under the impression that you all believe that I am the only one in this room with blood smearing my perfectly-manicured hands." He held them up for emphasis, knowing full well his reputation for avoiding most of the dirty work and manipulating others to achieve his dastardly ends. His hands were scarred and calloused, rough and worn, and they were _dripping_ with the blood of his countless victims. He _knew_ this. "I am not the only one responsible for that pointless bloodshed. I did present an offer of surrender, after all."

"One you knew we would refuse."

"Perhaps, but I was fully prepared to take you into custody had you accepted. The choice was not a farce. Nevertheless, we digress," he parroted. "Geonosis, while tragic, is a moot point. I am referring to moves made beforehand, political fallouts and secessions. The Separatists, originally, were not attempting to overthrow the Jedi, nor were they particularly keen on overthrowing the Senate, though they would not have hesitated to do so had the opportunity arose. I will openly admit to being a key player in forming alliances between those systems. Their position held great appeal; it just needed some simple organization and discipline to progress."

"And you gave it to them?"

Yan shot the Korun man a patronizing smile. "You know me well enough, Master Windu. Don't waste our time asking questions you already know the answers to."

Windu, surprisingly, let the blow land and brushed it aside without any reaction. Instead, his eyes were firmly fixed on Yan and unwavering in their intensity. "Do you mean to tell us that you were not a Sith at that point?"

Yan felt a flare of hope. Were they truly starting to _see_? "Yes," he answered, reveling in the puzzled flicker that he felt in the Force. "It had been a small number of months since I'd left the Order and I was searching for a cause worthy enough to support. While somewhat rudimentary, the Separatist cause – I believed – could grow into something much more noble than a simple rebellion against corrupt bureaucracy and unnecessary taxation. It could potentially replace the Republic that had grown so stagnant. So, having already reclaimed my title on Serenno and the bottomless funds that seemed to be attached to it, I lent my support both financially and as a figurehead. Change was needed. The Order was never going to accomplish it and, to the best of my recollection, it still hasn't."

"So why become a Sith?" This was Ki-adi's smooth lilt again, softly asking the question that Yan so desperately did not want to answer.

But answer it he would. "Power," he said. "It's simple. I was impatient with how slowly things were progressing and was ready to grasp at anything to change that. I was a fool, but I didn't know it. The Sith offered assurance that the Separatists would prevail, and if there was one thing that I had been looking for it was assurance. Assurance that some things would change. Power, for all of its failings, has its advantages."

"And now?"

Yan eyed this old, pale, master with the wispy goatee and couldn't decide whether or not he should trust him. Ki-adi was older than himself, but he wasn't exactly sure of how much older. Cereans tended to age quickly and then stop once they had acquired their wrinkles and white hair. Ki-adi had a sort of mischief about him, though. Something that implied youth despite his age. His pale blue eyes also held deep, unadulterated wisdom that belied that youthful spark. The master was a living conundrum, one that Yan couldn't easily figure out.

In the end, he decided that Ki-adi's line of questioning proved more trustworthy than Windu's. The Cerean didn't just want the facts; he wanted the motives too, and motives were what made a man. "Now?" He let out a brief laugh. "Now I am old and things have grown worse. I only seek an end to this conflict, the same as all of you."

"And when the end comes?"

He frowned, studying Master Mundi. "I am old. Who's to say that I'll be around?"

A few of them, including Ki-adi, smiled or chuckled a little at the not-so-subtle diversion. Ki-adi tilted his head, the effect intensified by exactly how much _head_ he was tilting. "You are not dark, Yan Dooku, Count of Serenno. Yet you carry a darkness with you. I am surprised by how readily you are able to recant the ways of the Sith."

Yan smiled back. "The way of the Sith is in you as well, as is the way of the Jedi. Both are flawed and both accentuate certain desires that are found in all sentient beings. I have recanted nothing. I simply am what I am. To answer your question, I do not know what I will do or where I will be when the end comes. I am a follower with no one to follow, so I suppose I will still be lost."

"Search, you still do."

"Yes." He eyed Yoda even as Ki-adi continued. The green Jedi was smiling.

Ki-adi shifted in his seat and nodded. "I do not sense any deception from you, Count Dooku. You speak truth?"

"Yes."

"But not all of it."

Turning to look at Mace, Yan nodded. "Correct. There are certain details that I have withheld on purpose, such as the identity of the Sith Lord that I seek protection from." At Windu's frown and the clear agitation of the rest of the Jedi, Yan swiftly continued. "I shall give it to you when the time is right. The galaxy is in a precarious position and things need to be handled carefully and delicately."

Yoda nodded. "Understand, we do, but expect this information within the next few months, we will."

Yan nodded, not able to help the gratified slump of his shoulders. Within the next few months… he could stay here. They weren't going to hand him over to the Senate. Outside, through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room, Yan noticed that the sun's rays had turned a soft yellow. No longer golden and no longer blazing like a wildfire, but still radiating heat and ricocheting from building to building. It calmed him in a way that Yoda's words weren't able. He flicked his gaze back to the Grandmaster. "Of course."

"In the meantime," Windu said. "You will be granted asylum in this Temple. You will make yourself as scarce as possible and submit to all security measures that this Council deems necessary."

Only half-caring, Yan narrowed his eyes. "Such as?"

"Wearing a monitor and being injected with a half-dose of Force suppressors, among others. You've made a convincing case today, Count," Windu said. "But you must understand our position…"

Back to business, it seemed. "I do."

"Master Kenobi also wishes to speak with you this afternoon, so you are to be confined to your quarters for the rest of today and he will stop by when he is ready."

His quarters. _His_. He nodded. "Very well."

And that was that. Perhaps he had been wrong about the Council. Perhaps they _were_ capable of seeing beyond his tattered, shadowy signature. Or perhaps he owed a certain ginger-haired master a grudging thanks. Yan was looking forward to this afternoon meeting no matter what it entailed. That was his initial reaction, anyway, until he was forced to stop by the Healing Wing on his way back to his apartment and get shot with Force-suppressors. It had been a while since he'd had them in his system and he instantly knew that he wouldn't be able to fight them off very easily.

Yan felt his control slip a bit and the shields he had up around his mind began to tremble and crack. By the time he arrived at _his_ quarters, he was frustrated beyond measure. There were no shields to speak of. He was as vulnerable as he'd ever been.

***oo***

He had left the Sith. She had seen traces of him here and there, on this world and that, but never an actual sighting. She wondered at his motives. Were they so dissimilar to her own?

Once she had hated the man, and there was still a small bit of hatred inside of her that was reserved just for him, but she couldn't bring herself to act on that hatred. Not anymore. The life of a bounty hunter was oddly peaceful for her. It didn't hurt as much and it was incredibly simple.

He had left and it troubled her. Where was he going? Tyranus – _Dooku_ – had never struck her as the type to leave a cause he was so invested in, especially at the cost of his life. Because if Sidious ever found him, he was as sure as dead. No, the man was too intelligent for that. Dooku was no fool.

So where was he going? What was he up to?

Asajj stopped rubbing the polished hilt and squinted at it. Angling it slightly, she allowed it to catch a tiny spark of light and reflect it back to its source. It would have to do. Some smudges would never leave, it seemed. Shoving the small cloth into a slim pocket at her side, she stood and stepped out of the shadows. Her transport was here, a clunky old cargo ship that was past its prime. Striding forward, her steps silent and graceful, she joined a small group of others who sought to leave the backwater planet.

She would go to Coruscant, perhaps try to seek out Obi-wan Kenobi if he was on planet. For some reason, despite their history, the man had always been reluctant to harm her, even after that horrible business on Jabiim. Asajj got the sense that he was actually attempting to coerce her into joining the Jedi ranks, but that would never happen. She had almost been a Jedi once, a long time ago.

No. It wouldn't happen. No, she would only seek out Kenobi to inquire about Dooku. Nothing more than that.

As the ship took off, rattling its way through the planet's thick atmosphere, Asajj wondered if Coruscant had changed since she'd been there last. Last time she had helped a runaway Jedi. Skywalker's little brat of a padawan had gone and gotten herself into quite the mess and it was only with Asajj's help that she'd survived the first twenty-four hours in Coruscant's dingy lower levels. Oddly enough, during that brief time with the child, she'd grown rather fond of her.

Asajj blinked. _The entire galaxy's going to pot,_ she thought. Sith and Jedi were abandoning their respective orders left and right. _Chaos. It's all chaos._

That was alright with her. The more chaotic things got, the more someone like Dooku would stick out like a sore thumb. The man positively _loathed_ chaos. He was all about order, and perfection, and routine.

Then she sighed. _Not really._ A chaotic galaxy with pieces strewn all over the board was a _game_ to him. He would take those pieces, work them to his advantage, and no one would even notice who had pulled the strings.

Well, no one but _her_. She would notice. She always noticed the things that weren't meant to be noticed.

Asajj leaned her head back and glanced out of one of the tiny windows behind the rickety bench she was seated on. Her breath caught, as it always seemed to lately. Stars. _Trillions_ of them. The sight made her smile.

Stars were meant to be noticed, and she had hardly ever taken the time to look at them before.

* * *

 _Long chapter, I know... let me know if it's too long and I'll try to keep them under 6,000 words (I thought about splitting this one up). Please leave a review if you feel so inclined!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for your patience! :)**

* * *

" _For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing; it also depends on what sort of person you are." C.S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew_

* * *

Kenobi gave Yan only two hours before he decided to show up at his door. Yan wondered if he would ever actually _want_ to answer his door ever again. It was becoming a rather tiring habit that only ever brought him more frustration than joy. Initially, he had been looking forward to seeing the young Jedi (young in appearance only, for his eyes were much, _much_ older), but now Yan didn't want to see anyone. Not until the blasted Force-suppressors wore off. His head was throbbing and he felt, for the first time in a _long_ time, absolutely discombobulated.

It was not a good feeling.

The Jedi master announced his presence outside of the door with a soft knock. Yan started to groan before stopping himself. He would be _patient._ He would have to be if their last encounter was anything to go by. Though short, it had been anything but sweet. A surprise, considering Kenobi's reputation, but Yan suspected it had to do with their past history. Or lack thereof…

Yan opened the door and gave the man a bland look. "Master Kenobi," he drawled. "Do come in. I've been expecting you."

The Jedi's face was a study in composure. It betrayed nothing, and not for the first time Yan inwardly cursed the healer who had driven that suppressant into his veins. He had absolutely no hope of reading Kenobi through the Force, but there were other ways to read a man. Almost without thought, he transferred himself fifty some odd years into the past, back before Kenobi even existed. Another man stood before him, taller with softer eyes and a quick laugh. They were two very different men, Qui-gon and Kenobi. Despite that, Yan began to see similarities right away.

Paying his scrutiny no heed, Kenobi entered the apartment and waited for Yan to close the door before speaking. "I owe you an apology."

Yan stared.

"I snapped at you earlier and for that I am sorry."

"Your apology is noted, but unnecessary," Yan said, dismissing it with a flick of his fingers and taking a seat. "I am not a Jedi. You do not need to apologize to me for anger that was more than justified."

A corner of Kenobi's mouth twitched. "Nevertheless…" he trailed off, glancing around the small space. It was a diversion, Yan knew. This man was renowned for his ability to read people and manipulate them with pretty words. 'Manipulate' was perhaps the wrong term (that was Yan's forte…), but Kenobi certainly knew how much the right words could influence a person's actions. His natural charm and sophisticated aura probably helped as well.

The thought made Yan smirk. Had the man been a touch taller and a bit older, he would be looking into a mirror. "Why are you here?" he asked.

Kenobi continued to look around and eventually ended up by the only other living thing in the room. "To stoke some life back into this plant, obviously," he deadpanned, giving Yan a look. "It looks miserable."

Yan appreciated the humor, but only to a point. "Out with it Kenobi. Force, you're acting just like Qui-gon when he –" Both of them froze, one with a mental self-rebuke and the other with a stricken look instantly smothered beneath smooth disinterest. Yan recovered first with a sigh. "I apologize," he muttered.

The Jedi stared at him for a moment before looking at the plant again. " _Qui-gon_ would have disowned you for neglecting this poor plant."

" _Qui-gon_ ," Yan grit out, barely able to say the name without a simultaneous stab of guilt, "is not here. Why are _you_?" And Force _curse_ the man for reminding him so much of his former padawan…

Kenobi finally sat down on a chair he pulled from the small dining table and stared at Yan. "I want to know why _you_ are here, Count. You never struck me as the Sithly type, all evidence to the contrary, and yet when my master died you turned tail and ran from the Order as if we'd put a bounty on your head. You're not a Jedi. You're not a Sith. My former padawan tells me I should have let them execute you, and yet here you sit. Not dead, but not exactly alive either." At this Yan flinched. Kenobi glanced away and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm having a difficult time reconciling the man who dismembered my padawan with the one that I see now." Old eyes zeroed in on him once more. "I want an explanation, Dooku. I want to know why you left and I want to know why you came back."

 _It almost sounds as if he cares,_ Yan thought. He quirked a brow. "You have talked with the Council since I was returned here, correct? Surely Master Mundi filled you in on –" He stopped when Kenobi let out a short laugh.

"Yes, yes, he filled me in. They all did. Something about desiring change and searching for someone to follow. A good story, nothing more. This has nothing to do with the war," Kenobi snapped. Yan watched him close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling the man had done that a lot over the last few years.

He observed the Jedi for a brief moment before coming to a decision. "A good story, yes. One that has some truth to it, but you want something else entirely. Something I'm not so sure that I'm willing to share just yet."

Kenobi's eyes snapped open and narrowed. "It would go a long way towards establishing trust."

"I am not here for your trust, Kenobi, nor anyone else's."

"Qui-gon admired you, you know," Kenobi said, looking away again. He missed the slight tremble in Yan's fingers. "I know that you two didn't have the closest relationship, but he made sure to paint you in a good light. Said you were the best swordsmen in the Order and that if ever a Sith emerged, you would be the first Jedi sent to take him out." Kenobi's eyes, slate grey now and glinting with emotion, flicked back to his. "That was said to a boy barely into his teens, though. I learned later that you were obsessed with learning everything there was to know about the Sith and that you made a habit of visiting worlds so dark that most Jedi would have suffocated within minutes for the lack of light. You made a good Shadow."

Yan refused to be baited. He had not been expecting a discussion centered on his life as a Jedi and he had no intention of letting this turn into one. "It was my job and I was very good at it. Your point?"

"You didn't." Kenobi's head titled. "Suffocate, that is. It's hardly a secret that you never really put much stock in the Code, so what _did_ you believe? What _do_ you believe in now? The Council says you're searching. Fine. What are you searching for?"

Yan smiled a bitter smile and found himself wondering why Kenobi was even asking these questions. "You would never understand."

The Jedi's eyes were _burning_ with unchecked emotion as his mouth twisted into a tiny smirk that mirrored all of the bitterness of Yan's smile and then some. "Try me."

Yan, surprising himself, wanted to. He'd almost made Qui-gon understand all those years ago and he wondered if there was a small piece of this man that could be convinced. But no. The fool was too indoctrinated, too _trusting_ of his Force. He shook his head. "Another time, perhaps."

That clearly was not the response Kenobi had wanted, but the man was as good as advertised. He barely blinked. The smirk disappeared and, with a curt nod, he stood up. "Very well, then. I shall leave you to your miserable plant and your inner musings."

Yan watched him stride to the door. Right before the Jedi opened it to leave, Yan was struck with a sudden thought. "Before you go, answer me one question."

Kenobi stopped. "Yes?"

"Do you play Sabaac?" Yan smirked when the man turned to face him fully, but it died at the look on Kenobi's face. Force _blast_ it, he had been hoping to find something to lure Kenobi back for another conversation later. He'd assumed Qui-gon's love for that uncivilized game had somehow been passed along to his padawan.

"I did. Qui-gon _died_ , Dooku. I'm not sure that you've fully grasped what died along with him."

Yan felt himself grow cold and immediately set about reprimanding the ignorant whelp before remembering that Kenobi was a Jedi Master and had been for some time now. He was well into his thirties and had eyes that appeared decades older. So he settled for a cool glare and a more measured reply that was no less scathing. "Only Qui-gon died, Kenobi. There are some who simply forgot how to live."

Kenobi flinched. Recovered. "You left."

Yan inclined his head. "I did." He let the man mull the words over for a moment before gesturing at the door. "Enjoy your day, master Jedi. I look forward to our next… discussion."

Still simmering with unchecked emotion (the man was hiding it well enough, but Yan had spent one and a half _decades_ training Qui-gon; it was mere child's play to see through this man's mask…), Kenobi drew himself up and left with only the click of the door to bid Yan farewell. It was only after the Jedi had left that Yan realized the younger man hadn't so much as made an attempt to probe his mind. Kenobi would have easily been able to gain answers had he wanted to, the Force suppressors made sure of that, and yet Yan hadn't felt even the slightest intrusion.

He frowned. _"Try me."_ The challenge echoed in his head and he wondered if maybe he should have given Kenobi the benefit of the doubt. There _had_ been sympathy in those gray eyes earlier in the day, something that still baffled Yan. Kenobi was a Jedi through and through… wasn't he? He shouldn't be able to even _remotely_ relate to Yan's predicament, let alone his past. And his line of questioning had been anything but what Yan had expected…

No matter. Answers could wait. There would be more discussions to come, he was sure. Instead, he picked up the comm unit that Yoda had left with him and fingered it, hesitating for only a moment before comming the only frequency the unit could reach. Just another limitation, he supposed. The voice that answered surprised him, but he had to smile to himself. Sometimes that piddly little troll was just too perceptive for his own good.

"Dooku. I will admit that it is something of a surprise to hear from you so soon, but what can I do for you?" Ki-adi Mundi's cultured voice was borderline hypnotizing.

 _What can he do for me?_ Yan snorted softly. He was a prisoner for Force's sake. "Master Mundi. I was expecting Yoda. If I were to ask permission to venture out of my quarters would you have the proper authority to grant it?"

He could hear the smile in Ki-adi's voice when he answered. "Most of us believe you are currently not a threat, Count. The monitoring device will allow us to know your position at all times; you are free to go where you wish so long as you do not leave the Temple grounds and so long as you make yourself as scarce as possible."

Interesting. "Very well, Master Mundi. If I am in need of a meal, whom should I ask?"

"Meals will be brought to your apartment. Anything else?"

"No, thank you." He set the comm down and stood up. At some point more clouds had blown in and it was pouring rain again, but he opened the balcony door anyway. Yan stood in the frame, not outside but not inside either, reveling in the smell of the rain and the dampness of the air. Coruscant was gray. Nothing remained of that morning's sunrise, but after so many years spent living in Sidious' shadow, it was incredibly easy for Yan to find beauty where others could not. The Jedi Temple was still a slab of bland duracrete rising into the suffocating storm and the cityscape was only glass, pollution, more duracrete, and endless levels of sentient chaos, but Yan looked at none of this.

In fact, he didn't look at anything. He stood there, closed his eyes, and listened to the steady rain and the distant rumble of thunder. There was the occasional flash of lightning as well, which made him smile.

" _What do you believe in now?"_

Lightning flashed close enough that the answering peel of thunder was more crack than boom, but Yan didn't so much as twitch. This lightning wasn't aimed at his person and it wouldn't fry his nerves and leave him shuddering for three days straight.

But it _was_ powerful. Something Sidious couldn't hope to match. Yan hadn't lied when he'd told the Council that he'd joined the Sith for the advantages their power would provide. He'd only realized years later that the Jedi and the Sith were powerful only to a point. Sidious couldn't conjure up a storm, Yoda couldn't make a flower sprout from the ground, and the Force was a mere tool that both of them wielded.

" _What do you believe in now?"_

The storm was _beautiful_. That he knew for a fact, but he had no answer for Kenobi. Only a sense of direction that might lead to an answer. Hopefully the next few days would bring him closer, but for now he would simply enjoy having a quiet, rainy evening to himself.

***oo***

Obi-wan spared the rain only a sidelong glance as he stalked back to his and Anakin's quarters. It was a depressingly lengthy walk as Dooku's old apartment was situated in the oldest residential wing the Temple had to offer. By contrast, he and Anakin shared rooms nearly three full levels higher and on the opposite side of the spacious building. It was through a mutually agreed upon pact that neither of them took the lifts anymore (they'd had far too many unfortunate… _situations_ arise), and so he maneuvered through hallways and climbed flights of endless stairs. It was an inconvenience when he needed to get somewhere fast, but this time it was more advantageous than not. He needed time to _think_ , blast it.

He would continue to give the Council, and anyone else who asked, purely diplomatic, strategic, and objective reasons for keeping the Count alive. Between him and Dooku, though, things were personal and he didn't know what to do with personal. Anakin he could handle just fine, but anyone else, _especially_ a former Sith, was a different matter entirely. It didn't help matters that he felt an odd sort of kinship with the man, and maybe that was the root of the problem right there. Since Qui-gon had died, he had never had any sort of person he could go to to simply talk things over.

Not that he'd tried. He stopped at a bend in the hallway and glanced outside, eyeing the curtains of rain with a disinterested eye.

Mace had tried. Multiple times, he had tried to talk to him, but Obi-wan had refused to let the man take Qui-gon's place. _No one_ could take his master's place. Not even Yoda. So he had coped on his own with the Force to guide him and heal him, and for the most part it had worked. Seeing his reflection in the window, his slightly graying hair and the lines feathering out from the corners of his eyes, he knew he had Anakin to thank for that. Anakin and the Force had held him together when nothing and no one else could have.

But now Dooku was here in the Temple, of all places, and Obi-wan felt unbalanced for the first time in a long time. _"Can an evil man change his ways, Count?"_ He had been taught that no one returned from the dark side. Evil men, evil beings of any kind, stayed that way. Nevertheless, he had always _hoped_ –

"How did it go?"

Obi-wan jumped, startled. Ki-adi's smiling face was reflected in the window and he sighed. "As expected."

"Meaning?"

He frowned, turning from the window and stalking down the corridor once more. Master Mundi followed. "He admitted to an ulterior motive, but he refused to explain it to me. He doesn't think anyone will understand."

Ki-adi grunted. "Then he doesn't know you very well, does he?"

This brought Obi-wan up short and he stared his fellow Council member down. "Not many people do," he quipped, still searching Ki-adi's sky-blue eyes.

The other Jedi only smiled again. "No, I suppose not, but it is not for lack of trying. I won't pretend to know why you won't allow any of us in, but I do think I have an inkling as to why you are suddenly so interested in Master Dooku."

Obi-wan glanced away. "He is not a _master,_ Ki. There is no _Master_ Dooku anymore. Only an empty shell that used to be a respected Jedi. He's probably more Sith than Jedi at this point anyway…" he trailed off and would have been lost in thought had Ki-adi not continued the discussion.

"And if he is neither? What then?"

He glanced at Ki-adi and found that the blasted Cerean man's eyes were twinkling at him. "I'm not sure," he bit out, sounding snappier than he intended. Then he smiled tiredly. "I apologize, master. I'm just not thinking very clearly right now…"

Ki-adi accepted the apology with a small smile of his own. "Did he feel dark to you, Obi-wan?"

Obi-wan sighed and stopped by another flight of stairs. It was the last he would have to climb to get to their apartment's floor. "No, not even slightly, and that's what concerns me the most. His signature felt _neutral_. Neither light nor dark, but somewhere in the middle. I've met countless beings who can touch the Force at a very small level and most of them feel the same way, but I have never encountered a person who is as powerful as the Count and yet does not lie on one side or the other. Someone as powerful as him, who has been both Jedi _and_ Sith, should at least feel dark or light. With him, all I get is a sense of weariness and that's it." Obi-wan gestured futilely at the last bit, not even attempting to hide his confusion. He watched Ki-adi tilt his head and winced. "Please don't, master. I'm not in the mood…"

"Not in the mood for what?" Ki-adi asked, though his eyes looked entirely too innocent.

Obi-wan glowered, feeling like a petulant youngling and not caring in the slightest. "For a lecture on the merits of _meditation._ Ask Anakin. He'll tell you that I wrote the blasted manual."

Ki-adi chuckled a bit at this and nodded. "Yes, well. I must say that he might not be too far off…" At Obi-wan's deepening scowl, he gave the man a pointed look. "I was _going_ to suggest turning around and continuing your discussion with our resident former Sith. As an outsider looking in, it appears, my friend, that you are running away."

Obi-wan looked away, the habitual retort already out of his mouth before he could catch himself. "Making a tactical retreat, actually…"

This drew another chuckle. "So that you can regroup and do what, exactly? No, no, no… you are running. Dooku has you on your heels and completely befuddled and you've decided that the only solution is to remove yourself and start again when you can make things less _personal._ I have never known you as the running away type and you wear the description very poorly, if I do say so myself."

Obi-wan glanced at him again, raising a ginger brow. "And I never pegged you as the type to hand out backhanded compliments."

Ki-adi smiled again. "Not usually, no." He stared at Obi-wan for a moment before glancing out of the windows to study the steadily falling deluge of rain. "He commed me only a few minutes ago to ask if he was allowed to leave his quarters and how he might acquire a meal. Two rather… domestic requests. You might find him more at ease inside of his old quarters picking at some food than if you were to encounter him later in the halls. Just a thought."

Obi-wan had been ready to bid his fellow master farewell for the evening (and thanks, but no thanks on the advice), but now he hesitated. Dooku comming for… food? It was an unusual picture, to be sure. Sighing, he smiled ruefully before pivoting on his heel. "I daresay I've been outmaneuvered. No time like the present, is that it?"

"I am sure your quick mind can handle Dooku, even if it is a might bit foggy at the moment," Ki-adi said with a wink.

The younger Jedi brushed by him without another glance, but he did mutter some parting words over his shoulder. "If he tries to eviscerate me I'll make sure to inform him that it was your wisdom that led me back."

"Very well," Ki-adi murmured with a soft smile. His smile grew as he watched the young master stop at a fork, consider something, and then turn down a different corridor. It _was_ close to supper time, after all.

***oo***

Two hours later, Yan had just finished brewing himself a hot cup of tea when a soft knock sounded on his door. _Must be my dinner_ , was his first thought before he realized that the knock had a slightly familiar cadence to it. _If only I could conjure a Sabaac deck out of thin air,_ he mused. He took a brief moment to set his tea on a small table to the left of his sofa and then he walked the short distance to the door. Upon opening it, he was surprised to discover that not only had Kenobi brought himself back, but the Jedi also held two disposable containers from which steady puffs of steam were escaping. He stared at Kenobi through narrowed eyes. "You seem to be suffering from a severe personality disorder the likes of which I admit to being unfamiliar with. Mood swings do not become you, Kenobi. What is this?"

" _This_ ," the Jedi answered, lifting the containers a touch, "is dinner. I assume you're hungry. And _this_ ," here he gestured as best he could at himself, "is me attempting to attain a tactical advantage by confronting you where you are at your most leisurely self." He paused, effecting a polite smile. "That is, if you actually _have_ a leisurely side. I have yet to see it, myself."

Yan stared for a moment, trying to decide whether he should disregard the fool completely or laugh at the obvious attempt to disarm him with food and hospitality. In the end, he settled for a low chuckle. Not only did it seem to throw the Jedi off, but Yan actually found the situation quite humorous. He stepped to the side and swept his arm wide. "I suppose I can tolerate your presence for the time it takes us to eat, so long as you refrain from insulting my horticultural abilities. I'm afraid the plant's condition is no fault of my own."

Kenobi blinked, seemingly still recovering from hearing a genuine chuckle come out of a former Sith's mouth. "I think I can manage to hold off for the time being," he eventually replied, stepping smoothly past Yan to set the food on the small dining table. He still wore his brown robes and Yan noticed him pull them a little tighter around himself. He also noticed the slight tautness to Kenobi's shoulders, the dusting of gray at his temples, and the sharp-edged determination hiding behind the humor in his eyes. "Master Mundi recommended I return."

Yan nodded at the information. "I was fairly certain that I wouldn't be seeing you for at least a few days."

Kenobi shrugged as he sat down. "He made a convincing case." Producing a utensil from within his robes, the Jedi set about opening his meal and consuming its contents. Glancing up at Yan, he gestured to the seat across from him. "Feel free to eat. That was the purpose for the food, after all."

Eyes narrowing just a touch, Yan studied Kenobi for a second longer before taking the proffered seat. _Not as much like Qui-gon as I initially thought…_ Then he opened his dinner and stared at it in slight disbelief, but mostly disgust. _Then again it appears they have identical tastes in food…_ "Kenobi."

"Hm?" The Jedi asked around a mouthful of food.

Yan couldn't help but wrinkle his nose in anticipation of the heavily fried, distinctly greasy scent that was sure to overwhelm his sensitive sense of smell. "I am not sure what gave you the idea that I enjoy fried foods, but I assure you that I will _not_ be eating this –" his elegant tirade was cut short by the surprisingly tangy scent that came from the sandwich in front of him.

Across from him, Kenobi smirked and swallowed before nodding at the meal. "Actually, I decided that you _wouldn't_ be terribly fond of greasy food, so I politely asked Dex if he would be willing to whip up a more… _cultured_ variant of his Shawda Club. He assured me that it would be no problem and that he's served many senators and visiting nobles throughout the years who haven't the slightest idea of what _cultured_ food really tastes like. His words, not mine. Apparently grease and fatty meats are a delicacy on whatever planet he's from."

Yan noted the distinct lack of grease on the sandwich before him, as well as the colorful greens sprouting from in between thinly sliced cheeses and a cut of meat he couldn't identify. It looked rather tasty, even if a Shawda Club was hardly his idea of a good meal. "Don't feign ignorance, Kenobi; I'm sure you know precisely which planet he's from."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I prefer to play my cards only when necessary, but you know that." Ginger brows furrowed and rose in a clear sign of bemused disbelief. "I wasn't aware that small talk was a skill that you retained, let alone practiced."

Yan stopped studying his meal long enough to give the Jedi a baleful look. "I assure you that this is not small talk, Master Kenobi."

"Then what do you call it?"

Finally deciding that the sandwich wouldn't kill him and that his hard-earned reputation as something of an aristocratic snob would not be thoroughly ruined in the privacy of his own quarters (yes, _his_ ), Yan tested out a small bite and gave Kenobi his full attention. He savored the combined flavors of the meat, cheeses, and spicy sweetness of the spread before swallowing. "A momentary distraction at best. I was not expecting you back so soon, let alone with my dinner. So again I ask, what is this? Why are you here?" All this earned him was yet another shrug and another smirk, and now the blasted fool's eyes were glinting with, dare he say it, _mischief._ Yan forced down his rising ire and managed to maintain a calm expression, but before he could berate the man for his outright _rudeness_ , Kenobi decided to answer.

"You want the truth? Is that what you're after?"

It was surprising how swiftly the amusement in those glittering gray eyes disappeared and how ruthlessly direct they now were. Even so, Yan couldn't bring himself to feel any sort of unease. "Preferably," he confirmed before taking another bite, this one much bigger than the last.

Kenobi set down his own half-finished Shawda and leaned back in his seat. "Tit for tat or nothing at all."

Apparently this man before him had absorbed, retained, and perfected Qui-gon's stubborn fondness for words hurled as blunt instruments. Yan had positively _loathed_ that trait in his former padawan, and its continued existence in the Jedi before him grated on every last one of his overly frayed nerves. Blunt force was _uncivilized_ , in both diplomacy and battle.

Slate gray eyes, though hardened and _edged_ with something unidentifiable, smirked at him in a way that Kenobi's face couldn't. _Another difference,_ Yan noted. Qui-gon's wildness, that energy within him that even Yan had been unable to tame, had always been evident in a nervous twitch when the boy's expression turned blank. His old padawan had had a _very_ impressive Sabaac face, but Yan had quickly figured out how to read beyond it.

Kenobi, on the other hand, was hardly the chaotic man his master had been. There were no nervous ticks to speak of. Even now, the Jedi's right hand rested casually on the table and the other was in his lap. But those eyes were alive and saying things that Yan knew he would never hear out loud.

Right now, for example, they were smirking at him in a way that told him that Kenobi had known that answer would irritate him. They were smirking, and yet they were warning him as well.

 _An old man_ , Yan mused, _trapped in a young man's body_. For some reason he couldn't get over that fact. "You are being surprisingly direct for a man known for his patience."

A small smile greeted him from behind an auburn beard speckled with gray. "That was a terrible attempt to deflect, Count. Surely you can do better."

Yan smiled thinly at the man. "Very well. Truth for truth, as you say." He put both of his elbows on the table and folded his hands. "You first."

"You puzzle me."

Another direct answer. Yan was quickly rehashing his initial assessment of the Jedi (not predictable, but predictably _un_ predictable) even as he barked out a short laugh. Smiling openly now, though his amusement was accompanied by a well-worn and tired sadness, he said, "And every puzzle is meant to be solved, is that it?"

"Not necessarily, but some deserve a try at the very least."

Yan blinked, thrown. "I assure you, _Jedi_ , that I am not worth your efforts," he quipped.

There was a tiny, almost imperceptible lift at the corner of Kenobi's mouth, but that was it. "We shall see. Your turn."

Yan sighed and glanced down at his sandwich. Slowly, gratefully, he took another bite. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts…

Thunder rumbled and crackled and _sang_ , and he smiled. Looking up, he met the Jedi's hard old eyes with his own (which he knew were a broken, scarred shade of brown that had darkened and dulled considerably over the years). "Qui-gon was fond of stories… are you?"

Just as he'd hoped, mentioning Qui-gon's name had put the man on edge and rendered him speechless for a moment, so he stood up and gestured for Kenobi to follow him. To his credit, the Jedi's slight hesitation was barely noticeable. Within seconds, Yan was standing just inside of his open back door and Kenobi stood at his side with a respectable distance of a couple of feet between them.

"You have a flair for the dramatic, Count," Kenobi quipped.

"I prefer the word _substance_ to drama," Yan replied, unperturbed. "Substance teaches. Without it, words are just words."

"You were going to tell me a story."

Staring thoughtfully into the storm, Yan nodded. "So I was. It is short, but hopefully it meets your lofty expectations." Lightning flashed again and he felt himself relax. "There was once a middle aged man who hunted shadows for a living…" This garnered a not-so-subtle snort and Yan allowed himself a small smile. "He tried to teach his student how to do the same, but the boy was too undisciplined for such heavy endeavors and too full of life to dedicate his time to something so draining."

"If you are trying to garner pity, Count…"

"Then one day, the student was killed by a shadow and the man fled, powerless and searching for answers, for his own training and former teacher had nothing to offer. It wasn't long before an older and seemingly wiser man offered him the means to prevent further deaths and attain a position with which he could control the shadows and harness their power."

"Your story lacks imagination," Kenobi's accented voice dryly interrupted.

"Yoda would appreciate it."

"He isn't here."

Yan pivoted to stare at Kenobi. "Then let me make things plain for you. I have had two masters in my life, Kenobi. One was a Jedi, the other a Sith. One taught me that no one is as light as they claim to be, and the other taught me that evil and wickedness and pure _malice_ are far easier to attain than the mockery of peace I was raised to aspire to. One asked me to take life, and the other asked me to create it. While I found it far easier to do the former, it was the latter that I sought and still seek. You asked me what I believe, Master Kenobi." Lightning flashed close by, casting their faces in bright relief. Kenobi's face was set and his eyes were fixed on Yan.

"I'm listening, Count."

So he was. Those blue eyes – _blue,_ not gray and wasn't that interesting? – didn't waver. Yan nodded. "I used to believe that the Force was light. Then I discovered that it could also be darkness and I decided that it was nothing more than a tool for beings to use for their own selfish ends, for good or for evil."

"That's heresy."

Yan could see the fiery glint in the Jedi's eyes and knew that Kenobi believed that he really had just spoken outright heresy, but he only smiled slightly and nodded again. "I suppose that for a Jedi it is, but there are hundreds of other beliefs out there. Who are we to decide what is true and what is not?"

This gave the younger man pause. Yan respected him for that, for actually considering what he'd heard; he supposed that it was a quality that served him well in diplomacy. "A fair point. So why are you here?" Kenobi asked.

Yan eyed him for a moment and then turned to watch the storm again. "Is this another interrogation or are we speaking man to man?"

This earned him a soft chuckle. "Master Mundi said you asked a similar question of the Council. I assure you, Count, that had I wanted to be part of an interrogation I would have stayed in that chamber."

"Is that your roundabout way of saying that yes, I am speaking to Obi-wan Kenobi the man, and not the Jedi Master?" Yan mused out loud, smirking at the barely audible sigh that followed.

"I am a Jedi, Count. It is who I am." Kenobi shifted. "So. Have you come to instill doubt in those with impressionable minds, or have you come for some other purpose?"

Yan snuck a glance at him. "Every mind is impressionable, some more than others, but no. Trying to dissolve a millennia-old Order from within would take far more effort than I am willing to spend. My aims are far more personal than that."

He watched his guest slip an upturned palm into the rain and hold it there for a bit before turning to give Yan his full attention. "Personal?"

 _So are his,_ Yan realized. But he didn't let on that he knew. "Or selfish. However you wish to look at it." Turning, he walked back to the table and picked up his sandwich (he wondered for a moment why Kenobi used a _utensil_ to eat a _sandwich_ ). "This is surprisingly good. Give my thanks to Dex the next time you visit him."

Kenobi studied him for a moment, his expression seemingly caught between a frown and a smile. "I will," he finally said. Then he glanced at the rain one more time, dried his hand on his robes and moved to the table to pick up his own dinner. Once the container was closed tight and held beneath his arm he held out his hand to Yan. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Yan stared at the offered hand for a moment (it was a dry, calloused, and worn hand that had a single line of scar tissue tracing a barely visible line from the thumb to the wrist) before slowly accepting it in his own. They shared a firm handshake as he smiled thinly. "I am a prisoner here," he said. "Hospitality is not something that I am able to grant."

Kenobi turned to leave with a smile of his own. "I never intended to force my way through the door, Count," he said in parting. "I knocked, and you let me in. Enjoy your evening." The door closed softly behind the Jedi and Yan was left staring at it.

 _May the Force be with you,_ the traditional Jedi words of parting, were left unsaid. Upon realizing this, Yan allowed himself a small smile. It appeared that there was at least one Jedi who was not only trying to understand (Yoda and perhaps Master Mundi were definitely _trying_ ), but was maybe, quite possibly, _succeeding_.

***oo***

When Obi-wan finally arrived at the door to his quarters he took a deep breath to steady himself and then stepped inside. It was a relief to be done with the Count, but he still had Anakin to reckon with.

"I'm surprised you didn't spend the night, seems how you two are all buddy-buddy with each other now."

Annoyance reared its ugly head as he turned to face his former padawan, best friend, and current roommate. Raising a single brow, he stared the younger man down. "Good evening to you too," he responded, voice level. He took in the tired, disheveled countenance, the small stack of flimsy on their table, and the half-empty mug of caf with a single glance. "What are you working on?"

Anakin looked miffed that he didn't rise to the bait, but his expression quickly shifted from irritated to downright exasperated. "I'm reviewing notes," he said slowly, enunciating every syllable in a way that suggested his unfamiliarity with those three simple words. "Since your comm was off again, Windu stopped by to let me know that _both_ of us are attending the Senate hearing at the end of this week."

Obi-wan frowned. "I assumed I would be going, but you too?"

Anakin glanced at the flimsy with disgust. "I guess. He mentioned something about it being the Chancellor's personal request."

"That's odd…" Obi-wan set the remainder of his sandwich in front of Anakin (the young man opened it up without a word and started eating) and ventured over to the pot of caf resting under the brewer. "Is the Chancellor still looking for a representative? You had mentioned that a few months ago."

"You think he has _me_ in mind?"

Obi-wan smiled to himself as he poured caf into the mug Anakin had left on the counter for him. He could clearly picture the horrified look that was likely on the younger Jedi's face. "It wouldn't surprise me. You're a well-known public figure, a well- _liked_ public figure, and someone that he is apparently comfortable with." He turned to face Anakin with a frown. He had never attempted to hide his personal dislike of the Chancellor from his friend, but he had also never discouraged the growing acquaintanceship the two shared. "Perhaps he wants to see how your grasp of politics measures up to his standard."

Anakin gave him a look. "His point of view, you mean. I'm pretty sure he knows that I hate politics and find it far more useful to be blunt instead of tactful." He smirked at Obi-wan's snort of agreement. "He probably just wants to see if I'm the sort that will agree with him or argue with him."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Which sort are you?" Obi-wan sipped his caf and leaned back against the counter, his full attention on his former padawan.

The other man took a swig of his own lukewarm drink and shrugged. "I'm not sure. I guess it would depend on the topic, but I think he has the galaxy's best interests in mind."

"Hm." They stared at each other for a moment and seemed to silently agree that now was not the time to discuss the subject further. "So. Dooku."

Anakin blinked at the sudden shift in topic, but other than that he took it in stride. "Yeah. So what did he say? How did it go? Master Windu only told me the conditions of his stay and nothing more."

Obi-wan noted Anakin's obvious irritation at being told only so much and smiled in sympathy. "It's not personal, Anakin." His friend dismissed this with a wave, so he just shook his head and continued. "As far as my discussion with the Count, things went well, but not exactly as planned. He didn't reveal much, only that he is here for personal reasons."

"That's it? Seriously? Did you go full Negotiator mode on him or just treat it as a therapy session? I thought you were better than that." Anakin's tone was accusatory, but his expression was anything but.

Obi-wan was unamused. "I didn't expect him to reveal everything during our first meeting, Anakin. He knew what I wanted and gave me only what he wanted to give. It's that simple."

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I take it you haven't changed your mind on keeping him alive."

"No."

"Fine." Silence followed until Anakin spoke again. "Why do you trust him?"

Obi-wan sighed and put his caf down. Raising a hand, he rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he could feel coming. "I don't _trust_ him. I've told you that already."

"Yeah, but I don't believe you," Anakin returned, rising from his seat. He stuffed the remaining chunk of sandwich in his mouth and spoke around it. "Let me know when you have some actual information from him. I'm going to the dojo for the rest of the evening. Senate notes are in that stack if you want to look at them."

Glowering at the table, Obi-wan grunted out a farewell and then busied himself with the notes. Within minutes, his poor brain's fraying nerves flailed helplessly in defeat and all anxieties fled to be replaced by the thunderous pounding of his migraine's inevitable return. Groaning once, he refilled his mug with caf, slid their balcony door open a crack, and settled himself on one of their two meditation cushions.

It took him only a few moments to realize that meditation would not even remotely calm his headache or provide a calming influence. The Force was in an uproar and sinking into it now was the equivalent of diving into a maelstrom.

With an exhausted sigh, he opened his eyes and took a long gulp of caf. A gust of rain-drenched air smacked him in the face and he blinked. Obi-wan smiled softly despite himself. Perhaps fresh air would be enough this time. He scooted closer to the door, slid it open another four inches, and pulled his robes closer around his shoulders.

Lightning flashed, thunder roared, and rain continued to drench the galaxy's capital. Eventually, Obi-wan closed his eyes and was content to simply _listen_. There was something about a powerful storm that seemed to always ease his worries, and he wondered why that was. His old master had always loved them. That much he knew.

His thoughts immediately bounced from his master to Dooku, his old enemy ( _former_ enemy?). His _grand_ master, or at least he would have been…

Dooku's door had been open too, his apartment permeated with the smell of rain and echoing with the rumblings of distant thunder. Obi-wan's eyes flashed open as he frowned.

It was an entirely discomfiting thing for a Jedi Master to discover that he shared something in common with a former Sith. Even so…

He shrugged, closed his eyes once more, and tried to _relax._


	5. Chapter 5

_**So, it's been a while, hehe... you may want to reread at least the last chapter unless you remember what's going on. As always, thank you for your patience. :) Enjoy!**_

* * *

 _"Dead men don't walk and breathe and bleed!"_

 _"They don't?"_

 _[Gustav and Talus,_ The Keeper by _Ted Dekker_ _]_

* * *

When Yan entered the Archives a few days later, it was a quiet, inconspicuous, and easily forgettable moment. Having agreed to make himself as scarce as possible during the first couple weeks of his return, he had determined (after a thorough study of the Jedi Academy's scheduled classes and free times) that early morning was the best time to visit. Early, as in a few hours before sunrise.

For Yan, waking up before the sun was hardly new. He had been doing so ever since his initiate days in this very Temple. While the halls had always been quiet, he couldn't recall them ever being _this_ quiet. Standing there by doors covered in ornate patterns and carved images, he took a moment to settle himself and steady his rising pulse. Even with Force-suppressors running through his veins, he could still sense the muted whisper of sorrow that ran through the Force's currents. It made everything feel heavier and colder than it should.

Shaking his head once, Yan reached forward to push open one of the doors. He smiled as it opened, warm memories shoving through years of suffocating darkness to flash brilliantly behind his eyes. Jocasta Nu, forty-some years young, had welcomed him into her quarters once a week before his apprenticeship to Yoda. He still remembered the nauseating sweet tea that she had served him the first time and the subtle gesture of serving him something far less sweet every week that followed. Her eyes had hinted at a wisdom greater than her years and he had learned to heed every word that came out of her mouth, whether it held a touch of humor or the heavy tones of truth.

The Archives were dimly lit and it seemed that he was their only visitor at that hour. To his left, aisles of sleek datapads and holobooks glowed a soft blue. On his right, dusty tomes, ancient scrolls, and records from hundreds of civilizations sat comfortably in shadow. Oddly enough he, like Jocasta, found comfort among those dusty aisles. Those shadows had only ever been warm, beckoning, and mostly innocent. Mostly. The darkest part of the library, back in a semi-forgotten corner where the books and holocrons were restricted, carried a more sinister air.

Yan settled himself once more and squared his shoulders, allowing the door to close soundlessly behind him. Jocasta's desk was unoccupied, hardly a surprise. The Archives _technically_ weren't open yet. In an hour they would be, but by that time he planned to be settled in another of the library's semi-forgotten sections, hopefully hidden from any curious eyes. The younger generations no doubt had heard of him, but he was certain that most of them wouldn't recognize him without more than a passing glance. He was banking on that assumption. Research, in his opinion, was always done best in silence and solitude with only the occasional companion to bounce thoughts off of. He didn't need dozens of the Temple's resident miscreants scurrying to their clan masters and informing them that a Sith was reading books in the library. No. That certainly wouldn't do at all.

Striding forward, mind racing with the aching familiarity of the scene, he glanced absently at the neatly organized rows of information. It wasn't difficult for him to remember exactly which records he deleted and which he stole when he allied himself with the Sith. A few of them belonged in the First Hall where he walked. At the time, he had deemed himself clever. Not many could say that they had successfully infiltrated the legendary Archives and gotten away with it. Now it was just another fault to add to his admittedly long list.

Mouth drawn in a flat line, Yan directed his gaze forward. It took more than a few minutes to walk the length of the First Hall, but he finally arrived at the rotunda that sat at the center of the great library and stopped. There was a slight whisper of movement off to his right and he turned, watching as Jocasta Nu, old and looking more fragile than he remembered, emerged from her private quarters. Her white hair was pulled up and neatly pinned at the back of her head with some type of utensil and her light brown robes, as ornately patterned as the door he had entered through, were wrinkle-free. Despite himself, despite his unexpected return and dark past, he smiled at her. He couldn't help it.

Upon finally noticing his presence, Jocasta stilled. "Yan…" she whispered, and his heart warmed at hearing it.

For the first time in a long, _long_ time, he was able to hear his name spoken with something other than fear attached to it. Or disdain, or disgust, or rage, or hatred, or oily respect. Even Yoda had yet to speak his name without an undercurrent of suspicion.

Without moving, he offered her a shallow bow. It was barely a slight bend at the waist, but it was more than he'd granted any other Order member he'd interacted with recently. "Good morning, master." She, more than many, deserved the title. "I'm wondering if you might help me with something…" He glanced to his right, looked down the Third Hall, and started moving in that direction.

"Yan, my dear boy, where have you _been_?"

Her voice stopped him in his tracks. He had been hoping to avoid discussing his past, his present, or his unknown future. He had been hoping to keep this quick and professional… my dear _boy_? Blinking rapidly, he found that his throat was suddenly constricting (and when was the last time _that_ had happened?). He furiously shoved down the rising emotions, even when a feather-light touch landed on his right arm. He looked down and saw a gnarled hand, knobby and spotted with age. "Growing old, the same as you," he replied, choosing to hide behind sharp wit and sarcasm.

Jocasta did what he could not and slowly padded around so that she could face him directly. Determined to not fidget under her scrutiny, he glanced once again down the Third Hall and nodded in its direction. "I'm looking for all of your records on the Bogden System."

"You foolish man," she said, almost gently. "Look at me."

He did, and what he found there startled him. Yes, she had aged, but her eyes were as blue as ever and as sharp as they'd always been. They looked at him with an odd mixture of pity, sadness, and joy. He blinked. "Master, what –"

"I daresay you have grown older than I," she stated. "Now, before I repeat my question, how about I brew us some tea?" Not waiting for a reply, she turned and walked back towards the door to her home. As if nothing had changed. As if he were arriving at his usual early hour in order to enjoy her company and discuss his latest adventure or lack thereof.

Yan was speechless, something that he hadn't experienced for quite some time. He turned and watched her, noting the slight limp in her steps, the way her feet didn't fully make it off of the floor so that she shuffled rather than walked. There was a barely noticeable tilt in her back and her breaths were audible now, especially in the silence of the library. Jocasta Nu was _old._ He himself was in his early eighties which meant that she was upwards of one hundred and twenty, and at _that_ realization he marveled. The shuffle was distinguished, the bent back was more than straight enough, and when she turned with a gentle smile to beckon him into her tiny abode, he couldn't help but follow.

It was as he remembered. The sight made him smirk. Those that never entered her living space would assume it to be just as organized as the rest of the library, but oh how wrong they would be. Coziness, at least to Jocasta, was defined by heaps of partially-read books, old-fashioned crockery stuffed with writing utensils, and no less than four empty caf mugs strewn about the two-bedroom apartment. A small, worn desk sat in the corner to the right of the door, its surface covered with datapads, stacks of flimsy, and numerous handwritten notes. Straight ahead of him, two shelving units, at least seven feet tall, were lined with all sorts of books. To his left, a tiny kitchen took up another corner. The apartment lacked an oven, but there was a stove, a cooling unit, and a few cupboards. A teapot, having already been filled and heated, began to whistle as it spewed steam. Jocasta was flitting about the space, deftly collecting two mugs, a container of herbs, and what looked to be freshly-baked rolls of some sort. Yan inhaled the scent with an appreciative sniff even as he wondered exactly how she baked them without the services of an oven.

"Take a seat, dear," she insisted as she poured water into mugs and separated the rolls onto plates. Yan took one more look around and then moved forward towards the only two seats available. There _was_ a third seat, but it stood behind her desk smothered in a pile of articles. "I wasn't expecting company," he heard her mutter, almost to herself.

He quirked a hesitant – and since when was he ever _hesitant?_ – smile in her direction. "Even if you had been, would you have deemed it necessary to tidy up?"

She directed an annoyed flick of her eyes over her shoulder. "It is the thought that counts, is it not?"

This drew an awkward chuckle from him and he averted his eyes again. She was so inviting he could hardly keep himself from jumping up and escaping as quickly as he could. He was dangerous, dark, tainted… he was _poisonous_ to her, for Force's sake! He'd hurt her if he stayed; he knew this.

At that thought, he rose to his feet again and stared her down when she ticked a brow at him. "I'm sorry, master. I don't belong here… but I thank you for your kind, if misplaced, welcome," he bit out before turning to leave.

"Yan."

It stopped him again, the way she said his name without all of the edgy emotions. "Yes?"

"I would not invite a Sith into my home."

Those blue eyes drew his own dark gaze to them against his will and he found himself stuck. No, he wasn't a Sith any longer. He _wasn't_. But he was no Jedi, and he was anything but safe. So why did she insist on him staying? "I know."

Despite his frenzied thoughts and emotions, it was truly infuriating when she simply smiled and turned back to making tea, as if she knew she'd beaten him in mere seconds of conversation. He growled under his breath when she gestured to the two-person table. Once he was seated again she turned, a steaming mug in each gnarled hand, and proceeded to serve him tea and breakfast. He picked at the rolls and absently sipped his tea in the awkward silence that followed. He could feel her studying him, but he valiantly refused to look at her.

Until she spoke again, the blasted woman.

"Is he dead?"

They stared at one another for a moment, one of them incomprehensibly forgiving and the other utterly flummoxed by it. Finally, Yan gave a curt shake of his head. "No. I am not nearly powerful enough to accomplish that." He took another sip of his tea. "But the Confederacy has lost a significant number of members and the Separatist Army should be easily defeated within the next five months. Many of their bases have been recently revealed to leaders of the Republic and their resources have taken large hits during the past weeks." He said all of this as calmly and monotonously as if he were discussing the ins and outs of droid manufacturing.

Jocasta's eyes gleamed in amusement, but she only nodded. "I see. And just how do you know this?"

"That is a pointless discussion that we need not pursue," he quipped, frowning as the gleam in her eyes transformed into an obnoxious twinkle. "Just trust me when I say that it is a proven fact that the easiest way to destroy a well-oiled machine is from within. Consequently, I am now a traitor to both sides of this conflict and haven't the slightest clue as to what my miserable future holds." The twinkle disappeared. He had to look away yet again. That had been a bit more than he'd wanted to reveal, but he could only keep his bitterness contained for so long.

Jocasta sniffed, drawing his attention. When she had it, she pointed a bony finger at him. "You, my dear boy, used to at least be a _hopeful_ cynic. Now you are just another bitter one. I will not ask what has changed, because your unfortunate past explains most of it. What I will ask is why you deem your future so miserable, especially considering your inquiry into _every_ record I currently have on Bogden."

He flinched in surprise, another rare occurrence. What _was_ it about this woman that kept catching him off guard? But he knew. She'd always been different. When he recovered, he narrowed his eyes at her. "And just what do _you_ know of Bogden?"

She dared to smirk at him. "Enough to know why you are asking about it. I serve this Order, Yan. My loyalty has never been in question, and that is why the Council keeps me on staff. I love my job and I am very good at it, but Yoda would be the first to tell you that my loyalty to the Jedi Code is severely lacking." Yan blinked and she smiled. "I have had decades to search through this collection of knowledge and just as long to study it. Truth is precious, Yan. I think that we can agree that it is not found in the Code."

Perhaps he was not as alone in this massive stone building as he thought. "We can," he said slowly, studying her with newfound purpose. At least one other person saw what he did, and he remembered reading somewhere that having one ally was exponentially greater than having only oneself. Two was not twice one; it was ten _thousand_ times one, and in this it seemed even greater.

He finally relaxed, content in this cluttered yet welcoming place. Shooting her a wry look while simultaneously taking a long swig of his tea, he drummed his fingers on the table. "That is a discussion for another time, I think." When her eyes narrowed, clearly signaling a protest, he smiled. "I did say _another time_ , Master Nu. I am merely postponing it, not eliminating it." This seemed to take her off guard ( _finally_ ) and his smile widened. "It's about time you felt as disoriented as I've been feeling," he said.

This drew an admonishing frown from her that folded itself into a quick smile. "I suppose. I am glad for you, Yan. Truly." She reached for his empty dish and slowly stood, shuffling to the sink. "I missed the ceremony, you know, when they unveiled your bust upstairs. I couldn't believe that you belonged in that group."

The Lost. A genuine, deep frown cemented itself on his face at those words. "Those busts are the epitome of arrogance," he muttered before his brain could register what she'd said. His brows rose in surprise. "Why not?"

He received another gentle smile from her. "I believe your presence here answers that question, does it not?" When he didn't reply, she turned back to the sink to finish cleaning and drying the dishes. Once finished, she dried her hands and shuffled to the door. "Let us see about Bogden now."

Grateful that she hadn't pressed him on more personal and painful matters, he followed her. "You were only partially correct as to why I am researching the system," he explained as they walked down the Third Hall. At her curious look, he continued. "Depending on how the next few weeks go, I am thinking about requesting a teaching position at the small chapter house there."

Jocasta openly stared. "While I am not necessarily against the idea, I doubt that the Council will allow you to teach initiates. Especially alone. That particular house only hosts a small clan, typically the Hawkbat Clan, and requires only one instructor. Do you really think that they will allow that?"

"No," he sighed. "I don't, but I am still going to ask. I've considered submitting myself to a mind probe to convince them."

Her face registered stark horror. "No, Yan, you can't. That is a strictly forbidden practice and it is highly invasive –"

"You think I don't know that?" he snapped. "And it is not _forbidden_ , it is simply _frowned upon._ Yes, mainly Sith are known to use it, but even as a Sentinel I used it a few times. Yet another thing I must atone for." He tacked on the last sentence with as much venom as he could muster, which was a considerable amount, and she flinched. He wasn't sorry. "I am well aware of what it feels like. Don't be so quick to disregard my very _recent_ past as an apprentice to a Sith Lord. I have endured much worse, I assure you." And here he felt a small pang of guilt when her face twisted in obvious grief. "That is also a discussion for another time, if ever," he muttered, relieved when she offered him a shaky smile.

He sighed again. "Teaching on Bogden has advantages. It would not only keep me out of the public's notice, but it would provide me with the opportunity to do on the ground research into other things. I have briefly looked into the Hawkbat Clan as well. They are noted for their somewhat darker tendencies." Shooting her a sidelong smirk, he continued. "I believe I am uniquely suited to counter those tendencies, wouldn't you say?"

Jocasta let out a faint chuckle. "I suppose you are. Here, you should find some information down here," she said, gesturing to their right. As she perused the shelves, she glanced at him. "If I believed in luck, I would wish you all the luck in the universe."

Yan caught her eyes and held them, joy and disbelief wrestling with each other in his gut. This wise old woman was possibly the only person in the entire universe who really _knew_ him and still cared about him. "Thank you for your help." He paused, hesitating only briefly. "Can I ask you one more thing, before you open your doors?" It was about that time, after all. At her nod, he swallowed. "Can you forgive me? For all of the hurt I've caused you, for using your knowledge to meet my own twisted ends, for stealing and deleting information, for –"

"Yan."

He stopped rambling.

Her eyes were watery, glistening with unshed tears. "Of course I forgive you, dear boy." She patted some holobooks in front of them and smiled. "Now make yourself at home. I trust that you still know how to be discreet in this place?"

Still shocked that she could so easily forgive him for _years_ of evil deeds, he nodded, numb. Jocasta reached forward and patted him on the shoulder. The gesture seemed to cement her words in place. _Of course I forgive you._

Without another word, she left him to his research and he grabbed a flimsy-filled book, rifling through its pages. Within minutes he settled himself into the comfortable patterns of study that he used to be so familiar with. By the time she opened her doors to the Archives ten minutes later, he had sequestered himself behind two neat stacks of books, holograms, and datapads, comfortably hidden in an old, dusty, warmly shadowed corner of the library.

***oo***

Kennan, Jiro, Sidirri, Nable, and Master Mahn lingered just outside of the massive doors to the Archives. The four initiates stood with open frowns on their faces or, in Nable's case, a flat-lined expression more suited for a round of Dejarik in Coruscant's slummy lower levels than a morning research session in the Order's famed Archives.

Du sighed at the smooth-headed boy. "We are not going to war, Nable. Please lose your poorly-hidden scowl. And the rest of you, cheer up. I thought you all were looking forward to this module."

A tiny crease appeared between Nable's eyes, but that was the only response he gave. Sidirri attempted a smile while Kennan's frown flattened into a humorous imitation of Nable's game face. Jiro lifted a hand to scratch absently at the back of his neck. "I think my cot has bed bugs, master."

In other words, Du interpreted, they were at least going to _try_ to remain _civil._ For perhaps the trillionth time in the last few years, Du inwardly cursed herself for requesting the station on Bogden. She had wanted to teach a group with some maturity to them and the Hawkbats had seemed the obvious choice. She hadn't realized that she would be trading infantile banter for stubborn, sarcastic, and often subtle rebellion. Not to mention the foursome's oft-preferred method of pretentious tolerance.

Blasted, _immature_ , delinquents. The problem was, of course, that she had also grown to genuinely _like_ them. Therefore, she endured their never-ending snark. And, as the situation called for it, she returned it in kind. Eying her Zabrak student, she raised an imperious brow. "Pity," she intoned. "Perhaps we should stop by the Healers this afternoon and have you debugged?"

Jiro's face puckered at that and he averted his eyes. "I'll be fine."

In other words, the four initiates interpreted, _stop sulking._ They all sighed, oddly (and yet not so oddly) synchronized in their actions. Du nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, let's show Master Drallig just how studious you can be when you set your minds to it. This is an important module, as you are all aware, and it is also one that can be quite enjoyable should you choose to make it so. He had these dropped off early this morning." She handed out the datapads as she continued. "As always, they are temporarily under your names, so take good care of them." Her words grew clipped towards the end, an imperceptible shift that every one of her students took note of. "Assignments are listed on the homepage and today's is already open for you. We will be here for the morning until we break for lunch and then we will head to class. Any questions?" She allowed the obligatory pause even though she knew there would be none. "Very well. I will remain close to the rotunda should you need me. Please refrain from making loud noises or snarky, ill-mannered comments."

It was an old joke that she had made two years back out of sheer exasperation, but now it had the desired effect of eliciting small smiles from all of them. Jiro's was closer to a mischievous smirk, but she purposely ignored it. Gesturing towards the doors, she followed her clan inside.

***oo***

Kennan stared at the datapad, eyes flitting over the assignment's requirements before closing briefly. _As always, they are temporarily under your name…_ more loaners. He cringed, allowing his irritation to spark and simmer for a few minutes before he smothered it once more. He knew he was being unreasonable, that _all_ of them were being unreasonable, but it was hard not to look at supposedly trivial details (like temporary datapads) and see them as the Order's subtle reminders that it really was perfectly fine with the Council if every last one of their darker, tainted initiates were sent away to one of their many service corps.

Kennan wondered if they knew what a fine gesture it would be if they simply assigned them personal datapads like everyone else. He sighed.

 _I'm being WAY_ _too unreasonable._ Kennan actually did have his own datapad on Bogden. Order-issued and everything. _Okay focus. Homework. Form 1… what's it called? Oh yeah, Shii-Cho. Duh._ Every initiate had learned it as a youngling. Basic fundamentals. Attacks, parries, angles, the advantages of disciplining oneself in keeping things simple. It worked for some. Kennan found that it sorely lacked the necessary element of _flash._ It was so very blah. Boring. Nevertheless…

 _Two pages answering the following questions: What makes Shii-Cho unique among the Forms, and why has it endured for so long? What do masters of the form seek to emulate?_

He almost laughed out loud before he remembered Du Mahn's instruction to not make any loud noises. What made it unique? _Well,_ he thought with a rueful smirk, _it's the easiest of the seven and also the least exciting._

Why did it endure?

 _Um…_

He sighed. Then he glanced at the rows of shelves branching off in every conceivable direction and sighed again.

The truth was, they _had_ all been looking forward to this particular mod. Kennan found that he still was, in part, but after arriving at the Temple yesterday, his excitement had rapidly faded. Coruscant's cityscape was flashy and fast-paced and had held his attention for as long as it had taken them to land. Upon entering the Temple, he had been bombarded with the overwhelming presence of hundreds of Jedi flitting about in the Force and had literally stepped back outside to take a large breath of stale city air just to calm his senses.

Coruscant was… different. Master Mahn had made them all promise to be positive about their short stint there, and so he was going to _try_ and find something about the place to enjoy. But it wasn't home. Not even close. And he was far from comfortable.

"Can I help you with something?"

Kennan turned and found Master Nu staring at him with a gentle smile. Caught completely off-guard, he could only blink at the old librarian. When she chuckled at him, he managed a dignified frown. "I'm just starting…" he muttered, looking away and pretending to know which direction he needed to go to find research materials relevant to his homework. His act immediately backfired on him.

"If I may offer a suggestion," Master Nu said, directing her words at his retreating back. "Most of the materials focusing on lightsaber forms are down the First Hall behind me, about half way down in the rows on the right. You may look at anything so long as it is not restricted."

Turning around and trying not to blush, he caught her eyes again. "Thank you, master," he mumbled, moving past her. His frown deepened when she reached out and laid a bony hand on his shoulder. "Yes, master?"

Master Nu was looking at him with a serious expression on her face, which made him nervous. "What is your name, young man?"

Kennan studied her for a moment, trying to decide if she was just asking out of obligation or because she genuinely wanted to know. Her eyes looked interested enough and her attention wasn't wavering, so he gave her a tiny shrug and answered. "Kennan Taanzer. I'm in the Hawkbat Clan." He mentally swatted himself for adding the last bit. She would already probably know that part if she had an Academy schedule. In fact, she probably already had their roster and his picture and _was_ only asking to be nice.

But she smiled and it seemed real, so he indulged her. "Nice to meet you Kennan. I'm glad that you and your clan mates are able to visit us for a bit."

 _Suuuuure you are._ Kennan pasted on a small smile. "Glad to be here."

Master Nu's smile started looking a little _smirkier._ "No. You're not," she said, lifting a brow and staring down her nose at him. "But I appreciate the effort to be courteous nonetheless. Now why don't you take a look down that hall and I'll send someone along shortly who may be able to help you fine-point your research."

Blinking at her flat-out calling of his bluff, it took him a moment to stutter out an answer. "Oh no, master, I'll be fine without… help…" But she was already wandering over to where Jiro stood with a lost look on his face, staring blankly at the maze of shelves. He sighed again and then followed the old librarian's directions.

Soon enough, he had pinpointed about a dozen shelves of datapads glowing brightly under the heading "Shii-Cho [Form 1] – Way of the Sarlacc". _Sarlacc?_ Kennan had no clue what a Sarlacc was, but he intended to find out. Perhaps that was what masters of the form sought to emulate. He wandered over to a catalog terminal and ran a search. He groaned at the results. Most of the better looking sources were located in the Third Hall directly opposite the First. _I guess I'll know this library pretty well before we leave again._

It took him more than a few minutes to locate the section on Outer Rim territories, but at least it was a small section and easy to navigate. As he browsed through datapads, a long shadow fell across the aisle and he glanced towards its owner.

Dark brown eyes met his gaze and held it. The man was tall, darkly-robed, and wore a head of silvery-white hair. His entire demeanor instantly made Kennan uneasy, but when he tried to get a feel for the man with a light Force-probe, he was shocked to discover that the Jedi barely had a signature at all. What _was_ there seemed weak and muted, a mere afterthought to the man himself. And it was shady.

Not dark, but definitely not light.

It made Kennan more curious than nervous, and the man seemed to notice this, because he chose that precise moment to speak. "I'm afraid you don't know me well enough to begin making assumptions."

Normally, Kennan would have instantly shifted into _'time to tread carefully'_ mode (this man had a voice smooth enough, confident enough, and pitched just right enough to trap anyone in its grip), but the bold accusation threw him into automatic defense instead. His eyes narrowed. "I wasn't making –"

"Really."

It wasn't a question and Kennan stuttered to a halt. "No." The man just stared at him. It struck Kennan then, who this man was supposed to be. "Are you my help?"

A single, silver brow ticked upward. "That depends," he said.

"On what?"

"Whether you think you _need_ it."

Kennan took one look at the packed shelves, glanced back at the old man, and tried on what he hoped was a compromising sort of smile. "I think I might."

The man smiled at him then and Kennan found himself desperately wanting to not be alone with him anymore. Unfortunately, the blasted Temple-dweller was blocking his escape. "I think you _do._ " Kennan tried not to twitch during the short pause that followed. He stepped to the side and watched as his supposed 'help' reached a calloused hand towards the shelf and plucked a datapad loose. "Start here. If you do not find this relevant to your research, then I'm afraid any further effort on my part will be wasted."

Kennan flicked the power switch and read the heading that flashed briefly before an index filled the screen. _All You Need Know About Sarlaccs._ There was a childish picture of the beast below the heading. He frowned and raised his head to tell the man that he wasn't a toddler, thank you very much, but his help had disappeared. "Huh."

Weird. Temple-dwelling Jedi were just _weird._

He found a small study nook tucked away behind some shelves and opened up the first chapter, skeptically taking in the first few lines. Within minutes, Kennan's own datapad contained two pages of typed notes, more than a dozen unanswered questions, and his own sketched rendition of what a Sarlacc _really_ looked like. It was monstrous, mostly hidden, and sported dozens of long sharp teeth.

It was not a pleasant beast.

It took him a full twenty minutes to hunt down his designated help again. The man was seated in his own hidden nook behind piles of materials and neat stacks of handwritten notes. Dark eyes flicked up when Kennan drew near. "Yes?"

Kennan held his gaze. "I have a question."

The Jedi leaned back in his seat, toying with the utensil in his hand. "Very well."

"Sarlaccs are dangerous," Kennan began. "How come Shii-Cho is mostly used for training younglings? If it's supposedly that dangerous –"

"You assume that its simplicity negates its effectiveness in a duel." The man lowered his gaze and began making notes again.

"Well…" Kennan frowned, feeling as though he was being partially dismissed. Only worthy of half this man's attention. "Yes, I guess. It doesn't seem to resemble the animal at all."

The Jedi paused to skewer Kennan with an intense look. "Lightsaber forms do not begin with a weapon, boy. They do not begin with physical training or the desire to defeat a foe. Each form resembles a way of life. Shii-Cho is quite basic, yes, but what advantages does that give it? More importantly," the man returned to his notes, "what does that say about the Jedi who chooses to use it?"

Kennan smirked. "Well they would certainly have to be optimistic to think that something so simple can help them in a fight."

"An interesting observation. Perhaps you should start there and see where it takes you."

"Optimism is a poor tactic, master." Kennan flinched when dark eyes rose once more.

"So it is, but Shii-Cho is not founded on optimism. Sarlaccs are vicious, merciless beasts that somehow manage to live thousands upon thousands of years. I can say with utmost certainty that optimism is not in their nature." The man nodded towards the two datapads clutched in Kennan's hands. "Study the beast a little more, take note of its characteristics, and figure out why a person might want to emulate such a creature. I believe you'll find that while Form One does not begin with an optimistic outlook, it certainly lends itself to it."

Kennan watched the man dip his head once more towards his notes. There were about a dozen unanswered questions bouncing around in his head and not all of them were related to his assignment. Not anymore. But he didn't dare ask any of them. He only nodded his head in thanks even though the Jedi wasn't looking. "Yes, master."

"One last thing."

Sighing before he could stop himself, Kennan turned. "Yes?"

The Jedi refused to look up, but he gave one last piece of advice before dismissing him. "Find your other clan members and do this assignment together. I believe four heads are better than one, wouldn't you agree?"

He furrowed his brows. "But I don't think –"

"Do the instructions specify individual study and completion?"

"Well, not exactly, but –"

His help still didn't break from his notes. The man had even begun perusing an ancient looking book while he spoke. "Turn in your own essays, but collaborate on your research. You may not be a Jedi yet, but if you aspire to be one, I suggest you begin learning how to work as a team. You will be a part of an _Order_ of members, young man, _not_ an Order unto yourself."

Kennan blinked.

If he wanted to be a _Jedi_? If _he_ wanted to be a _Jedi_? Did this man know who he was talking to? Kennan was destined to be a Temple reject and nothing more.

Nevertheless…

He blinked again. "Yes, master," he muttered before hurrying away. When he reached his nook once more, he paused, set his datapads down, and went to find the others.

***oo***

"I don't like it."

Anakin glanced at Obi-wan as they walked across the sprawling courtyard just outside of the Senate building. The hearing had finally ended after close to five hours of deliberations and debates. His former master had informed him that, all things considered, the meeting had actually been shorter than expected. He had also informed him more than once that he now had a bad feeling.

" _What,_ exactly, don't you like?" Anakin asked, close to the end of his patience. He had dealt with the man's ridiculous bad feelings for most of his life and had, for the most part, acquired an impressive amount of patience when dealing with Obi-wan in a mood. Today, however, was proving to be the exception. "You've been muttering under your breath since we left."

Obi-wan shot him a half-hearted glare before sighing. "The Chancellor is acquiring too much power. I thought that after recent developments, the Senate would settle down and begin to delegate authority back to how it had been before. It seems that he's gained their trust over the course of this war and now they can't get enough of him."

" _Master_ ," Anakin ground out. "He's a wise man and genuinely _cares_. Maybe it's not such a bad thing for one man to carry most of the vote instead of hundreds of people settling on majorities. It's not as if he has complete control yet."

"Emphasis on _yet._ " They fell silent for a few steps before Obi-wan shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. "Did you accept his invitation?"

Anakin looked at him, disbelief clear on his face. "Um, yeah master, of course I did. He's the _Chancellor_. If he offers me lunch, it's not exactly polite to refuse."

This drew a fond smile from his old master. "I suppose not. Just… be careful, Anakin. The man _is_ a politician, and a very good one at that."

"Master, just because he's a politician…"

"Yes, yes, yes, I know," Obi-wan quickly butt in, smirking. They reached the end of the courtyard where a row of air taxi's waited below the busy traffic lanes. The older Jedi looked up, squinting in the harsh afternoon glare. The sky was clear and the sun's rays were ricocheting every which way as they bounced off of buildings, speeders, and other larger forms of transportation. With that much light, his auburn hair was brighter than usual and the gray streaks near his temples much more prominent.

Anakin frowned and looked away. "Why don't you like him, master?"

Obi-wan caught the subdued undercurrent and quickly glanced at him. "Is something wrong?"

The young Jedi shrugged. "He's always been good to me, encouraging me, and pulling for me when a lot of other people aren't. I just… I want to trust him."

Obi-wan's brow furrowed. "I thought you already did."

" _I_ thought I did…"

"But?"

Anakin caught his friend's eyes again. " _You_ don't, and you're usually better at reading people than I am. With the obvious exception of Dooku, of course."

Obi-wan rolled his eyes. "How about you go enjoy your lunch and we can talk about it afterward." He moved towards one of the taxis.

"Where are you going?"

"Dex left me a message yesterday. Said a friend of mine is on planet and wants to see me. Apparently she's visiting the diner at the same time every day until I show up."

" _She?_ "

Obi-wan gave Anakin a look. "Not _that_ kind of friend. I have an idea of who it might be."

"Hmm." Anakin looked thoughtful for a moment before he smirked and made for his own taxi. With a wave over his shoulder, he left the older man behind. "Enjoy your date, master!"

Obi-wan frowned at his back. "Anakin! It's not a – " The door shut and Anakin's taxi pulled away, smoothly sliding into the lower levels of traffic before disappearing from view. Obi-wan pursed his lips, shook his head and opened a door.

"I need to go to CoCo Town, please."

"Very well, sir."

CoCo Town looked even more dilapidated than usual. Since it was located in the industrial district, Obi-wan figured it would never present itself as anything fancy, but before the war had begun it had at least been presentable. Now there were bits of litter along most of the byways in addition to heaps of scrap metal that had been abandoned by the district's janitorial crew. As he drew near to his destination, Obi-wan studied its rusty walls and water-stained roof with a grim smile. Dex's prized possession was beginning to show its age, as well as signs of neglect.

He still grinned like an idiot when he entered and caught sight of the broad-shouldered cook.

"Obi-wan! Welcome, welcome!"

He ambled over to the counter and leaned against it. "It's been too long, my friend," he said, continuing to smile.

The besalisk gave him a shrewd onceover before returning his attention to piling food onto plates. "That it has. You've got those funny gray hairs now, and still so young. Been travelling much?"

Obi-wan gave him a long-suffering look and then rolled his eyes when his friend only chuckled. "Funny, Dex. You're hilarious. Yes, I am going prematurely gray and yes, I've already resigned myself to it. I'd rather not talk about my travels at the moment."

"Stubborn old boy." They shared a brief, meaningful glance, one in which Obi-wan resolutely held his ground while Dex looked straight through him. The hard-edged cook frowned openly, started to say something, and then stopped himself. Obi-wan showed his appreciation with a tiny smirk.

"I'm still standing, Dex," he murmured.

"Barely, boy. Just barely." Dex jerked his head towards a spot behind the Jedi. "Your friend is in the corner. She's a skittish one, though her head's just as hard as yours, I wager. I'll bring you a drink soon as I'm finished here."

Obi-wan grit his teeth. "That's not necessary –"

"Don't make me ask, boy."

The Jedi snapped his mouth shut. With a sharp smile, Dex scooped up the plates and moved away. Obi-wan glared after him a moment and then turned towards the table his friend had indicated. Unsurprised by who occupied it, he sighed and began to weave his way towards it. When he stood beside it, he openly frowned.

"Ventress."

"Kenobi."

He sat.

"You _are_ aware that you're a wanted woman, correct?" He asked because he was a Jedi. They both knew that he wouldn't act on it.

Ventress voiced that very fact with a saucy smile. "Of course. That's why I contacted _you_. The Order's not-so-perfect Jedi."

Obi-wan barely suppressed a flinch and narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Ventress? Why are you here and, more importantly, why ask for _me_?"

The smile puckered into a smirk. "Touchy, touchy…"

When she only continued to stare at him, Obi-wan glanced away and pursed his lips. "I'm here and I'm listening."

Ventress snorted at his obvious lack of patience. "It seems I've caught you at a bad time. Perhaps we should meet later."

Obi-wan barely suppressed yet another sigh. It seemed the galaxy was full of things to be sighed at. "Now is fine, but be brief if you can." Surprisingly, the former Sith looked concerned. For him or for something else, he wasn't certain and he preferred not to dwell on it. "Ventress…"

She blinked. "Very well. I'll get straight to the point, then. Tyranus has disappeared, and I was hoping you might have heard something."

Obi-wan's first reaction was a disbelieving laugh at the fact that _Ventress_ was asking a _Jedi_ for intel. His second reaction was pure curiosity. "You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid. The Sith name 'Tyranus' has made the rounds, but we have yet to match the name to a face."

Ventress blinked. Then she blinked again. "You don't know?"

Obi-wan shifted in his seat, growing agitated. "I would very much like to."

"That… surprises me."

"Contrary to popular belief there are more than a few individuals in this heavily populated _galaxy_ that manage to give the Order the slip."

Ventress only smiled. "You don't need to tell _me_ that."

The Jedi smirked. "Don't flatter yourself. Most of these individuals remain nameless and don't make a habit of meeting up with their enemies every few months to catch up on wartime gossip." He made a show of checking the chrono on the wall. "You have ten minutes to keep fishing, but unless you start sharing what _you_ know, I can't promise you'll catch much."

Her smile flattened out and she stared at him for a moment before nodding. "In more public circles, he goes by Count Dooku."

Obi-wan sat silently for more than a few minutes before muttering, "Well _that_ answers a lot of questions." Directing his attention towards Ventress once more, he added, "Yes. I may have heard a few things."

Now it was Ventress's turn to frown. "Kenobi…"

The Jedi sat back and let his fingers drum casually on the table between them. He smiled, glancing to the side as Dex lumbered over to their corner with two drinks in hand. He set the larger one down in front of Obi-wan with a stern look and then placed a tall, skinny glass in front of the equally-lean assassin. "They're on the house today." He stopped Obi-wan's protest with another stern look. "No arguing." Then he lumbered off.

Neither of them spoke as they sipped at their drinks. Obi-wan knew that his wasn't of the stronger variety, but Dex had definitely laced it with _something._

"What have you heard?"

He looked at Ventress again. "I can't say much at the moment, but I'll do my best to keep you in the loop."

The familiar half-sneer half-snarl flashed across the former Sith's face. "That's it? I give you something solid you can dig your teeth into and you give me nothing in return?"

"It's complicated."

At this, Ventress laughed. It was a throaty, condescending noise that made him grit his teeth. "No. No, it's not, but you always like to think it is, don't you? So predictable."

Obi-wan refused to be baited. "Why are you hunting him?"

"Don't be daft, Kenobi," she said. "He drops off the radar and months later the war begins to turn in the Republic's favor? You and I both know that's no coincidence. The galaxy is changing, loyalties are shifting and I want to end up in the best position possible when it's all over."

Obi-wan was surprised at her blunt honesty. "And you think Dooku is the one to help you accomplish that?"

Ventress muttered something under her breath before answering. "He'll likely get himself killed if his old master finds him. Betrayal was a foolish move for him to make, but it's the _only_ time he ever did something stupid. He's a smart man, and a crafty one. I'm sure you'd agree that whatever happens moving forward, he'll do his best to swing things in his favor."

"You're a bounty hunter, Ventress. It doesn't matter which side wins. There will always be those looking for guns for hire."

"You know more than you're letting on."

Obi-wan smiled at the quick change of topic. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." He took another drink of the swill in front of him, wincing at the sharp flavor. " _Force_ , Dex…"

Ventress huffed in frustration. "Look, just… I'll be around. You know how to find me."

He ticked a brow at her. "What makes you certain that I will?"

This drew another lazy smile from her. "Don't be ridiculous. I've been your pet project ever since we ran into each other all those years ago. I'll never be rid of you."

He watched her stand up, frowning at the fact that she knew him that well. Was he really so obvious? Even so… she was right. He _did_ know how to find her and he probably _would_ if he decided she should know anything regarding her former master. She reminded him too much of Anakin, or what Anakin _might have been_ , to just let her go.

"Until next time, Kenobi."

He grunted in dismissal and watched her leave. Then he eyed what remained of his drink, downed it in one go, and exited the diner.

***oo***

Yan took a steadying breath and leaned back, surveying the copious piles of notes and bookmarked volumes he'd organized into stacks. Aside from the initiate that Jocasta had _insisted_ he help (more so _forced upon him_ ), he'd been able to research at a steady clip for almost four hours. What he'd found was unsettling. He planned to pursue things further after a short recess, but until then, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop mulling things over unless he found a suitable distraction.

Possessing an overactive, highly analytical brain could be irritating at times.

With a stifled groan, Yan rose to his feet and steadfastly ignored the various pops and creaks that sounded from his straightening joints. Getting old was also irritating. And unavoidable, so he stopped dwelling on it. The small chrono on his wrist told him it was early afternoon and his empty stomach told him he needed food. He withdrew two of Jocasta's rolls from his robes and unwrapped them. Still standing, he began to eat as he took out his loaner comm unit.

"Yes?"

"Master Mundi," he greeted, keeping his voice soft. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything…"

"Nothing important."

"Good. Tell me, what are my chances of acquiring a practice saber for an hour or so?"

There was a lengthy pause on the other end and the longer it lasted, the lower his chances seemed to fall. Finally, Ki-adi answered. "Let me see what I can do. I'm sure you understand my hesitancy."

"Of course," he intoned, careful to keep his voice clear of the irritation he felt.

"Give me a few minutes."

The line went quiet and Yan sighed. He sat down and picked up an article, studying it as he waited. He'd been to the Bogden system once many years ago, and he hardly remembered anything about it. It was a system of little note regarding the current state of the galaxy. Nothing truly strategic or beneficial to claim as far as the Republic and the Separatists were concerned. Its population was average, its natives uninterested in taking sides, and the only excitement it could brag about was the number of spice-smugglers that used its location as a point of exchange. Hardly worth a second glance. And yet…

Yan was unsettled. _Deeply_ unsettled. He really hadn't found anything until he'd begun to look at local news stations and the few village reports that were available. Then Bogden began to spill its secrets. On the surface, what he found seemed disconnected from the war and political unrest that much of the galaxy was steeped in. Most might set it aside.

For a person of Yan's varied studies and experiences, however, it was _significant._ And it made complete sense where Jocasta Nu was concerned. That thought finally brought a smile to Yan's face. He really didn't know much of anything yet, but what he _had_ uncovered made Jocasta's lack of devotion to the Code unsurprising. He suddenly decided that he needed to talk to her. Right as Yan stood to go find her, the comm unit chirped at him.

He glared at it before answering. "Yes."

"I spoke with a few members of the Council and we agreed that you may be allowed one hour a day so long as it is supervised and either before or after regular hours."

Yan couldn't refrain from an eye roll, though Ki-adi didn't sound entirely pleased either. "Supervised by whom?"

"Master Drallig."

He had to laugh a little. "Do you expect him to detain me if the situation requires it?"

"He _is_ the Order's Battlemaster," the Jedi argued.

"I might suggest the Master of the Order himself."

"He refused. Apparently you are too much of a temptation for him to do something very 'un-Jedi-like'. His words, no one else's." Yan thought Ki-adi might be smiling. "Truthfully? Don't think you're fooling anyone. We don't doubt Cin's skill, Dooku. We also very much respect your own. We just don't think you'll give us any trouble."

Yan sighed. "I suppose you're right. Very well. I will let you know when I wish to be there." He ended the call and went in search of Jocasta. It took longer than expected to find an opportunity to talk with her. Finding her was easy, but trying to remain unseen was proving difficult. He eventually snuck into her quarters and waited for her to show up.

When she did, she caught him sifting through the mess of flimsi lying across her desk. "Yan," she greeted, shooting him a disapproving glare.

He merely smirked. "Did you honestly expect me _not_ to snoop?"

"No, but I _do_ expect a modicum of decorum out of you once in a while," she sniped. "What is it?"

"Who is he?" No need to beat around the bush. Not with her.

She blinked at him, clearly not understanding. "Who is who, Yan? You'll have to be specific."

He leaned back, attempting to appear as if his heart weren't hammering out a heavy beat inside of his chest. "Bogden. I had to delve into local news stations to find anything worth looking at and it appears there's a small faction of dissenters roaming the planet. There isn't anything specific available, but their leader… he holds some _interesting_ views."

Jocasta held his gaze. "I'm surprised he let himself be interviewed. He usually isn't given to that sort of thing."

Yan waved it off, absently shuffling through the papers on her desk. "No, no, not him. But they were able to interview a couple of his men."

Silence reigned before Jocasta cleared her throat. "And?"

Yan's jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it. His back ached from the hours of studying and his hand was sore from notetaking. His heart was still out of control and now his gut was beginning to twist itself into an unfamiliar tangle of knots. But he raised his head and stared the older woman down anyway. "I think I understand why you don't follow the Code. What I would like to know now is why you've chosen to follow this man."

Jocasta smiled. "That's going to take some time to explain."

"I have time."

She laughed a little and stepped towards the door. "You do, yes, but I am currently working, so it will have to wait just a bit longer. Come back this evening and we'll chat. Agreed?"

Yan nodded and watched her leave. He had a feeling his world was about to be shattered and he was not prepared for that to happen. Not again.

" _Perhaps nothing to fear from a darker shadow, you have. But seek a darker shadow, you do not. Seek the shadow's source, you do. The black darkness. A difference, there is. A shadow, that is not."_

Yoda's admonishment had never left him. The old troll had warned him to stop delving into wicked things, to stop hunting the source of all darkness and instead to turn his attentions to brighter and better treasures. And he had, for a time. But his searching proved fruitless and he'd gone back to the true duties of a Jedi Sentinel: to search out deception and bring the dark to light so that it could be destroyed.

And then he'd found power and run after it. For a time. As a Sith apprentice, he'd experienced things he now wanted to forget and done things he very much regretted. He _knew_ , intimately, what hell must be like. Yan understood the term _slavery_ on a very deep level and he could almost sympathize with the Skywalker brat.

His world had been shattered then. Destroyed and rebuilt in the fashion of Sidious' designs. The man was a monster. Smart, sinister, cold and calculating…

"No," Yan bit out. "You don't own me anymore."

But he knew better. Speaking those words into the silence was proof. Yan would never be free of the man…

" _Tell me, Mister… uh… Deesh, is it?"_

" _That's what they call me, yeah."_

" _You're a runner?"_

" _Former runner, my man. Though if you're lookin' for a good rub, I could still show you where to find some."_

" _Charming. Back to the question… why him? Everyone says he's a fine speaker and a gentleman, if a bit rough around the edges, but why the big fuss?"_

" _He's good."_

" _Pardon?"_

" _He's a good man. Good on another level. Nothin' bad in the guy. I've never seen that before."_

Yan let the interview play in his head over and over and over. It'd been the only audio recording available; a short interview with a spice smuggler turned follower of this no-name man out in the middle of take-no-sides Bogden. Insignificant, right?

" _Nothin' bad in the guy. I've never seen that before."_

Yan knew darkness. What he didn't know very well yet was _light_.


End file.
